


Across the Horizon in Our Minds

by LadyKarai



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Memory Loss, Telekinesis, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-05-10 22:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 77,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5603467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKarai/pseuds/LadyKarai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers, Captain of an elite Earth strike team, has raided so many Chitauri bases in this war that he's lost count. This latest one, however, holds some of their enemy's darkest secrets, and for Steve, a bittersweet reunion with a ghost from his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "Standing By", a truly beautiful song by Pentatonix expressing the pain of being separated from the ones you love and the joy of being reunited.
> 
> Many thanks to Kolie for her help with this fandom, to which I am still embarrassingly new.

It had happened without warning.  It had happened so fast.  They had followed all the security procedures, all the standard protocols.  They had done this hundreds of times before, thousands of times before, and yet this time, the moment the senior scientist had opened the cage …

Screams.  Alarms.  Shots.  

Screams.  Panic.  Blood.  

Screams.  Screams.  Screams.

A junior scientist scrabbled under a desk and curled into a tight, terrified ball.  Several lights had been shot out; it was dark here.  Maybe, with enough luck, maybe survival was possible.  Maybe.  With enough luck.  Maybe.

The head of security aimed a pistol at a distant figure, but the second before the trigger was pulled, a blur, a realignment of the weapon, and an ally fell instead.  The gun reacquired its aim, but a moment later it tumbled to the floor as the head of security began to stagger backwards, hands to throat, choking.  Fingers clawed at the invisible pressure, hands that were not there.  Choking from the inside. 

The senior scientist came into view, knelt to pick up the fallen pistol.  Eyes glazed over and distant.  The barrel lifted, pressed against the chin, pointing upwards.  The trigger pulled.  Another body crumpled.

Beneath the desk, the junior scientist bit back whimpers.  Fingers fumbled for the comm device.  Help.  They needed help.  But help was so far away.  So far.  It would never come in time.

Behind the junior’s trembling body, a silver hand pushed slowly through the metal of the desk.  Reaching.  Unseen.

The shots were farther away now, the screams more distant.  The junior scientist listened to them with growing hope.  The fight had moved on.  This hiding place had not been discovered.  The amount of luck had been sufficient.  Chance of survival had increased tenfold.  Fingers went for the comm device again, shaking with relief.

Movement stopped.  Someone was laughing.  Quietly.  Low.  Fear crawled mercilessly up the junior’s spine at the realization that the sound was not external.  The laughter was _inside_ the mind.

One of them was here.  One of them was _right here_. 

The sensation of being stroked rippled through the mind.  Petted.  Kindly.  Almost lovingly.  And then the wave of emotion swept through, not needing words to understand the intent.

**_Kill._ **

Blood spewed from the mouth as the silver hand appeared beneath the junior’s nose, its fingers clenched into a fist.  Slowly the fingers opened revealing a soft-looking mass, black, still pulsing.  

Pain.  Vision blurring.  Impaled.  Run through.

Blood.  Pain.  Heart ripped out.  In a silver palm.  Pain.

Laughter.  Cold.  Pain.  Dying.  Laughing.  Laughing.  Lau --

xXx

Steve Rogers had lost count of how many of these damn Chitauri bases they had raided.  The first few had been exhilarating and terrifying, their victories triumphant.  Just to know that humanity was beginning to do something other than retreat, that they were actually starting to _win_ , filled him and his team with a joy unlike anything they had ever experienced.  Now, though, it was starting to become something of a routine.  Stark and his group had figured out how to fry the aliens’ psychic brainwaves, how to take down one of those massive ships with only the press of a few buttons, and from there, well, this war had turned into one big lizard hunt. 

Steve and his team were basically little more than exterminators.

Not that it wasn’t dangerous.  They still got shot at.  Wilson had gone down in the last raid with a laser blast to the shoulder that would keep him out of action for at least a month.  And no one, not even Stark, was crazy enough to try a raid within Chitauri space.  These little outposts, though, located in Earth territory or on neutral planets, never had enough firepower to keep them out for long.

They had approached this one like they had all the others: Rogers and Odinson on the ground in the front tanks, Barton and Stark in the air -- Wilson would have been there, too, had he been well -- and Dr. Banner bringing up the rear in what Stark liked to call the “getaway car” -- a giant green monster of an armored truck that they kept in the back just in case things went south.  Stark had designed all of the vehicles, so they were all strong as hell with insides that blinked incessantly with tech.

“And I wanted to make it so we could combine them all together, you know, like Voltron, except Fury wanted them immediately and wouldn’t give me enough time.  After the war, though, I am making myself a giant robot, so you better not put any scratches on them, Rogers.”

The plan involved sending the flyers out over the base first to draw the enemy out.  Have them waste a large part of their ammunition trying to shoot the birds out of the sky and also provide a few targets for the tanks to shoot at and/or squash.  Once they had thinned out the enemy’s numbers, Banner would broadcast the brain-fizzling signal, and the remaining Chitauri would start staggering around like puppets without strings.  The rest was just target practice.

It was a good plan.  It worked eighty percent of the time.  And when it didn’t, the birds would blast any visible guns, and the tanks would roll right up to the front door and shoot the walls until the enemy spilled out.

This base, number who-the-hell-remembered-anymore, looked like it was going to fall in that twenty percent.  Stark and Barton had flown over twice now, and no lizards had come out to hiss and spit and hurl anti-aircraft missiles at them.  As the birds began to turn for a third fly-by, however, Steve’s instincts began to twitch.  Something wasn’t quite right here.  This base had some pretty fancy guns on that roof.  His scanners had picked them out immediately.  But they weren’t moving to track the flyers as they went by.  They hadn’t even powered up as far as he could tell.

“Coming around for a third pass,” Barton’s voice announced over the coms.  “You want us to start firing, Captain?”

“Negative,” he replied.  “Continue with fly-over.  Do not engage.”

“Roger that.”

“Something wrong, Cap?” Stark asked him.

Steve frowned at his scanners.  “I’m not sure yet.”  He shifted the scanners towards the interior of the base, but, as he feared, the range on the tank wasn’t quite good enough.  “Doctor Banner, would you do a scan on that base for me, please?  Look for energy levels, life signs, the usual.”

“Of course, Captain.”

“Geez, do you hear how this guy is talking?” Stark whined.  “ _Doctor_ Banner, will you _please_ scan the base for me?  Pretty please with sugar and a cherry, my _darling_?”

Steve grinned and shot back, “Doesn’t hurt to be polite, Tony.  Especially to the guy who’ll be putting you back together if you get yourself blown up.”

That got short barks of laughter from both Barton and Odinson, and Steve could hear the smile in Banner’s calm voice as he reported, “Scan in progress.  Captain, dear.”

The birds roared by over Steve’s head, muffling the sound of Stark’s grumbling and Barton’s cackling.

“So, Captain,” Barton asked after he had controlled himself.  “You think the place is abandoned?”

Steve watched his own scanners as he waited.  Nothing moved.  “I think it might be,” he replied.

“Alas,” Odinson said, his low voice rumbling over the speakers, “there is no glory in taking unoccupied land.”

“Yeah,” Barton replied, “but it means we get to go home earlier.”

“That pathetic excuse for a ship is not a home,” Stark interjected.  “It doesn’t even have a hot tub.”

“Well, why don’t you do us all a favor and build one then?”

“Rogers won’t let me.  Says it’s a waste of resources.”

“Aw, man.  Hey, Captain, for once I agree with Stark.  We could use a hot tub.”

Steve smiled at the banter going back and forth, but knew better than to let it go on for long.  “Doctor, what have you got for me?”

“Energy levels are extremely low,” Banner answered.  “Barely enough for life support.  Looks like there is little to no lighting throughout.  None of the weapons are powered.”

“And life signs?”

“Inconclusive.  There are none on the visible floors, but there appear to be floors below the surface, and the scanners are only accurate three floors down.”

Steve took a moment to process all of this before stating, “So, minimal power, no movement, and no life signs within scanning range.”

“That’s correct,” Banner confirmed.

“Abandoned,” Stark sing-songed.

“Abandoned,” Barton agreed.

“I must concur,” Odinson added.

“All right then,” Steve sighed.  “Guess this one is even easier than usual.  Let’s go in and see if we can salvage anything.”

“You sure?” Barton asked.  He and Stark were turning again, on their way to a fourth pass.  “I could bomb it for you.  Save us all the trouble.”

Stark made a little strangled noise of protest, but Steve jumped in before the man could start ranting.  “No, we need to at least check the computers.  Even if they wiped them, I’m sure Tony can get something from them.”

“Damn straight I can.  I am a genius after all.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve put the tank into gear.  “All right, gentlemen, I’ll meet you at the front entrance.  Helmets on until we make sure the air is safe.  Doctor, run a radiation check and then you stay behind to run support while we go in.”

“Roger that.”

“Right.”  Steve nodded.  “Let’s move out.”

xXx

On the fifth subterranean level, four consciousnesses snapped to attention.  The bodies attached to them were huddled in corners of three separate rooms, but their minds flowed together as one.  They spoke, not in words, but in emotions, images, and understanding existed amongst them without translation.  Had anyone else been a part of their silent conversation, they would have explained it thus:

**Danger**

**_Yes_ **

_Protect -- …_

**Yes**

**_Protect_ **

**_Kill_ **

**Yes**

_… -- No_

_… -- Wait_

**_Wait?_ **

_… -- Regret_

_… -- Sorrow_

_Wait -- Please_

**Fool**

**Kill**

_No -- Please_

**_…_ **

**…?**

**_Run?_ **

_Yes -- …_

**_Count_ **

_Yes -- …_

**_…_ **

**…**

_Here -- …_

**_Count?_ **

_Four -- …_

**_Pain-givers?_ **

_Yes -- …_

**Kill**

**_Kill_ **

_Wait -- No_

**_Wait?_ **

_Not them -- …_

**_Not them?_ **

_Not them -- …_

**_…?_ **

_Us -- …_

**_…_ **

_… -- Please_

**_Us_ **

**Fool**

**Kill**

_No -- No_

_Us -- …_

**Protect**

**Kill**

**_No_ **

**No?**

**_No_ **

**_Wait_ **

xXx

Steve tugged a bit on his gloves to make sure they were on tight and then triple-checked the seal of his helmet before popping open the tank’s exit hatch.  As expected, nothing had so much as twitched within the base as they approached.  The tanks had rolled right up to the front door, and the birds had landed on the actual roof.  Either the Chitauri had abandoned the facility or they had somehow gotten a hell of a lot more strategic than they had been before.  It was this second possibility that worried Steve.  As a soldier, he knew that the closer you were to losing, the more you relied on strategy.  The Chitauri had been winning so easily for so long that it had seemed like they didn’t know the meaning of the word.  But now they were losing, losing badly, and Steve seriously doubted that humanity had seen even half of what those damn lizards could do.

“Captain,” Odinson called to him, “are you well?  Do you require assistance?”

Grimacing, Steve realized just how long he had been sitting in the tank.  “Nope, I’m good,” he called back.  Reaching up to the opening above him, he hauled himself out of the seat and then through the exit to the outside.  Odinson stood on the ground below, several paces away from his own tank, and Barton and Stark had just finished rappelling down from the roof.

He was double-checking the charges for his pistol almost before he had finished sliding down the side of the vehicle, eyes alert and scanning since the machine could no longer do it for him.  “Doctor, how’s the radiation?”

“Within acceptable parameters,” Banner’s voice replied.  “The interior atmosphere appears to be breathable, but it’s full of pollutants so I recommend keeping the helmets on.”

“Roger that.”  And to the rest of them he added, “You heard the man.  Keep your hats on, gentlemen.”

“Sure,” Stark muttered.  “I love trying to aim at stuff while looking through a giant fishbowl.”

No one bothered to reply; they were all too busy slotting into place.  They had done this so many times now that no one fumbled or hesitated.  All the kinks had been ironed out ages ago.  Steve and Odinson flanked the door, pistols up, electro-shields ready to engage; they were the figurative tanks of the assault, better in close-combat, their large frames intended to draw eyes and fire.  Barton and Stark crouched at their sides, longer-range rifles at the ready, prepared to whip around the doorframe and start taking shots until they could slip inside and find cover.  Wilson should have been at Steve’s feet, a tightly-coiled spring ready to dart inside, find cover as quickly as possible, and then begin to flank the enemy until he could start shooting hostiles from behind.  Steve felt the other man’s absence like an empty ache, but he wasn’t worried about it.  This wasn’t a situation where they were going to be fighting right away, if at all.

Odinson’s eyes were on Steve’s face, his expression focused and waiting.  Steve took a few breaths, felt the rest of his team settle and calm, their energy thrumming around him.  Then, he hardened his own expression, drawing his lips into a thin line, and, meeting Odinson’s eyes, nodded once.

The big man kicked the door in, and they went through.

The interior was dark, lit only by emergency lighting, and dusty.  As expected, nothing nasty jumped out at them.  Steve flicked on the flashlight attachment to his pistol so he could see better while still keeping it up and ready to fire; beside him Odinson did the same.  They were in a small entranceway -- open space, door that was probably a closet, stairwell leading upstairs, short hallway leading to another door.  It looked completely boring and safe.  They cleared it all anyway because thinking like that could get you killed.

They took similar positions for the door at the end of the hallway, although slightly modified to fit the smaller space.  This time, however, when the door went down, Steve only managed to get two or three steps into the room before his feet stopped of their own accord.  His mouth fell open in horror, and his body ran cold.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

“Jesus fucking Christ."

“Merciful god.”

“Oh Jesus.  Now I’m _glad_ we kept the helmets on.”

“Captain?” Banner’s voice floated to him from the speakers.  “Is everything okay?”

Steve shut his mouth and swallowed.  Apparently there had been a third option as to why this base had been so quiet.  Not abandoned.  Not a trap. Instead …

“They’re dead, Bruce.  All of them.  It’s a massacre.”

Dead Chitauri lay everywhere.  Some of them in multiple pieces.  The bodies were several days old, maybe even a week, judging by the decay and the blackness of the blood.  And there was a lot of blood.  Enough to give even him pause, and he had been fighting these things for five years.  Killed too many to even hope to count.

Slowly, he began moving into the room, gingerly stepping around bodies, senses still alert but at a lower intensity.  The beam of his flashlight floated over tables, overturned chairs, scattered debris that looked food-like in nature, workstations --

“Tony.”

Stark grinned when he saw what Steve had stopped his light on.  “Got it,” he replied and happily vaulted over several corpses to slide into the chair in front of the computer.  “Come to papa,” he purred at the machine, pulling data drives and the adaptor he had invented for just this situation from his pocket.

“Okay,” Steve breathed out, letting the thoughts in his head settle into a plan, “Tony is going to be entertained for a while.  Clint, keep an eye on him.  Thor, with me.”

Both men nodded, Barton moving closer to Stark with an alert, on-guard air, Odinson falling into place at Steve’s side.  Steve reached up to his helmet to flick on the camera that lived there, and then began to make his way around the room, carefully recording the carnage while checking the perimeter for exits

“Machines aren’t wiped,” Stark reported after a few minutes.  “Guess they didn’t have the time.”

Steve nodded automatically but made no other response.  These corpses were making his instincts prickle again.  Most of them were simply shot.  Head wounds, gut wounds, normal kill shots.  But a few had been shot from underneath the chin, and in each of these cases, a pistol or other small blaster lay next to the body, almost as if the Chitauri had committed suicide.  And then there were the ones that hadn’t been shot.  Those had great rips and tears in their bodies, as if attacked by an animal.  Some had simply been torn apart, limbs lying everywhere.  It didn’t make sense.

A head motion to Odinson, and they were moving towards one of the doors.  It opened into another hallway which they slowly made their way down.  Storage.  Kitchen.  Mess room.  What might have been a conference room before its door had been torn off its hinges and its table and chairs had been turned into a makeshift barricade.  A failed one if the bodies were anything to go by.  And at the end, another stairwell, this one going down.

Satisfied with his inspection for now, Steve began walking back down the hallway towards the main room.  As he did, he thought he saw a flicker of movement on his right side.  A heartbeat later, he saw another one on his left.

He snapped into battle-mode so violently that he almost missed Bruce’s quiet, “Huh.  That was odd.”

“What was?” Barton questioned.  His eagle-eyed sniper’s voice was calm.  No threat in the main room.

“The scanners flickered for half a second.  Not even that.  If I hadn’t been looking directly at them, I would have missed it.”

“What did they see?” Steve demanded.  Next to him, Odinson had noticed his captain’s stance and gone on alert as well.

“I don’t even know,” Banner replied, sounding genuinely confused.  He paused for a moment.  “Okay, for a millisecond at the most, the scanners think they picked up a lifesign.  But it’s gone now.  No readings except you four.”

“Glitch,” Barton declared.

“I would say so, too, except …”

“Except my software doesn’t glitch,” Stark stated with complete confidence.  Then, he suggested, “Mice?”

“For a millisecond?” Banner countered.

“Really fast mice?”

“Okay, enough,” Steve cut them off.  He relaxed, but did not put his gun away as he continued on down the hall.  Odinson followed.  “You almost done, Tony?”

“Yeah.  The data dump is almost finished.”

“Good.  As soon as you’re done, wipe it and let’s get going.”  He reached the door leading back into the main room and, after one last scan of the hallway, joined the other two.

Stark was waiting for him with a confused expression on his face.  “You want me to wipe the machines?” he asked.  “Aren’t we just going to blow this place up or burn it to the ground or something?”

Frowning, Steve shifted his weight and let his eyes scan around the room again.  That was the normal protocol for these raids.  Kill the enemy, steal what intel they could find, destroy the base.  But this one felt different.  It felt _wrong_.  He couldn’t bring himself to destroy this one until he at least had a better understanding of just what the hell had happened here.

“No,” he finally answered Stark’s question.  “Not yet.  I want to know what you found before we decide to blow this one up.”  His men just looked at him, not questioning, certainly not disapproving, just waiting.  They knew him well enough to feel his unease, and he knew they were hoping for an explanation.  Unfortunately, he had none to give, not yet.

Stark finally broke the silence with a shrug and a flippant, “Okay, whatever you want.  You are the captain after all.”  He turned back to the computer and a moment later began pulling out the drives and adaptor.  “Download is finished.  Gimme a second to wipe it clean.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, and then, as another thought occurred to him, he added, “Don’t worry, Tony.  If it turns out there’s nothing in those files, I’ll let you nuke this place from orbit.”

Stark threw him a wide grin over his shoulder as his fingers typed away.  “Ooo, _Captain_.  You certainly do know how to sweet-talk me!”

“It’s not hard,” Steve returned with a smirk.  “Offer to let you take something apart or blow something up, and I’ve got you eating out of the palm of my hand.”

“I should be insulted by that, but not surprisingly, I’m not.”  He pressed a final button with a flourish, and the screen blacked out.  “Done.”

“Good.”  Steve ran his eyes over his men, two of whom were trying and failing not to laugh, and nodded towards the way they had come.  “Back to the cars, gentlemen.  I’ll see you at the lander.”

“Roger.”

“Roger that.”

They left the base together and then split apart, each one going to his respective vehicle.  Steve waited to make sure the two pilots got back up to the roof okay -- Barton was excellent at scaling walls, but Stark occasionally had difficulty -- before climbing the side of his tank and slipping his feet into the portal.  Before he slid completely inside, however, he took a moment to let his eyes wander over the exterior of the base one more time.

Something had happened here.  Something important.  And he was going to find out what it was.

He slid fully into the tank, pulling the hatch closed behind him, and, after removing his helmet and gloves, shifted the vehicle into gear and started the long drive back to the lander.

xXx

Bruce stood on the bridge, cradling a mug of tea in his hands and gazing down at the planet below.  It wasn’t the prettiest planet he had ever seen -- too much red desert and not enough greens and blues -- but he always made a point of taking the time to gaze at any planet they orbited.  It helped him find his center, helped him remember life and beauty while this war dragged on and brought him ugliness and death day after day, year after year.

Rogers had retired to his quarters to rest, and Bruce had been happy to see him go.  Their captain was a consummate soldier, an excellent commander, but the man tried to take care of everyone else too much and never seemed to take care of himself.  Bruce could see how the loss of Wilson had affected him.  Not as a member of the team -- their team was deadly enough to handle the loss of one gun -- but as a friend.  They were all friends; they couldn’t have lived this long on one ship otherwise.  But Rogers always maintained that tiny bit of distance between himself and the others because he, out of all of them, was the captain.  Only Wilson had managed to get close enough to get the man to relax fully, and now Sam was gone for a month if not two.  It kindled Bruce’s protective nature, and he was already inclined to worry as it was.

Across the bridge, Stark spun around in his seat and addressed the ship’s AI in a loud voice, breaking through Bruce’s thoughts.  “JARVIS, how’s that translation program coming?”

“The first set of files are 80 percent complete, sir,” JARVIS replied, his British voice calm and respectful as usual.

Bruce smiled down into his mug of tea.  It always amazed him how someone like Tony Stark could invent an AI as polite, intelligent, and downright useful as JARVIS.

“Do you really think they’ll have anything worthwhile in them?” Barton asked from his seat at navigation.

“Rogers certainly hopes so,” Odinson commented.  He had taken up a spot similar to Bruce’s, but against the opposite set of windows.  The man always preferred looking out at the stars to looking down at the various worlds they visited.

“I doubt it,” Stark replied.  He had somewhere found a pen and had taken to flipping it idly in the air and between his hands.  “I mean, in terms of finding out just what the hell happened down there.  It might have something useful about other bases in this quadrant.  Although it might not have that either.  We seem to be running out of them.”

“Fine by me,” Barton stated with a grim expression.  “We’ve taken so many of the damn things down in the past six months.  It’ll be nice to be done and get a break for once.”

“You know if that happens, they’ll just assign us to another quadrant,” Bruce commented.

“Not before I get a fucking vacation,” Barton growled at him.  “Just let them try to reassign us.  I’ll fly this thing to Ceta Colony instead.”

Stark and Odinson both whooped at that, and Bruce smiled, feeling himself blush just a little.  Ceta Colony did not have the purest of reputations. “I doubt the Captain would be on board with that plan,” he warned.

“Wilson will talk him into it,” Stark replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “We can’t go until he gets back anyway.  Not going into battle without my favorite wingman.”

Barton snorted.  “Okay, one: I thought I was your favorite; two: I am telling your fiancee you said that; and three: the only person Sam would play wingman for is Rogers and you know it.”

“One: only on Tuesdays, two: she won’t care, and three: I’m well aware of that, but we’re still waiting.  Mr. Truth, Justice, and Mom’s Apple Pie needs to get laid.”

“And on that note,” Bruce sighed, pushing himself away from the windows, “I’ll be in my quarters.”

“One moment, sir,” JARVIS interjected.  “I have completed the translations for the first set of files, and I believe Doctor Banner’s expertise will be the most valuable for evaluating them.”

Bruce blinked, surprised, as Stark turned his attention to his screen and scanned the data that JARVIS had provided.

“He’s right, Doc.  That wasn’t a military base.”  Stark lifted his dark eyes and met Bruce’s from across the bridge.  “It was a scientific outpost.  Biological experiments, looks like.”

“Oh.  Oh, I see.”  That definitely was more his expertise then.  Carefully, he placed his mug onto a nearby station and lowered himself into the chair in front of it.  JARVIS automatically brought the same data up on his screen, and he let his eyes scan it as Stark had done.  Their translation program wasn’t perfect and some of the Chitauri words had been turned into gibberish, but he could easily see the familiar patterns of scientific data: research notes, specimen detail, experiment logs and graphs.  Unlike all of their other targets which had been purely war-oriented, this one had clearly been on his side of the tracks.

Intrigued, Bruce opened up the first set of research notes and began to read.  It was slow going at first.  The translation program didn’t even try to rearrange the bizarre Chitauri grammar, and the style took a bit of getting used to.  Soon, however, his brain was putting the words in the correct order without him having to think about it, and the information flowed steadily into his mind.

They had been doing research on their own psychic abilities, trying to amplify and modify them.  Probably, Bruce thought, to counteract the effect of Stark’s psychic jammer.  The earlier studies were all hypothetical, discussions of chemicals and technological procedures that Bruce did not want to take the time to investigate in detail at the moment.  The more recent studies, he found, were unfortunately the practical ones.  He sighed a bit when he read the first lines describing the test subjects.  Humanity had done its fair share of unethical experimentation on living beings, but that didn’t make the practice any less deplorable.  Even knowing that these subjects weren’t human did little to quell the roiling in his stomach as he read further.

There had been four test subjects: two female, two male.  All four had received treatments designed to increase their psychic and telepathic abilities.  Each had then been placed on separate programs to enhance them further in different ways.  The enhancements of the two females were geared towards further developing their mental skills, the two males their physical skills.  The tone of the notes was excited, triumphant.  The scientists in charge of the project believed they had been mostly successful.

Subject one, codename: Widow.  Telepathic ability: high.  Unique trait: suggestive empathy.  Subject could successfully override another subject’s will and force her own upon them.

Bruce swallowed hard and read that over again.  Suggestive empathy.  That was … scary to say the least.

Subject two, codename: Witch.  Telepathic ability: extremely high.  Unique trait: telekinesis.  Subject could move objects with only her mind, up to five at once if under ten pounds or one object up to a hundred pounds.

Horrified, Bruce paused again, this time not bothering to reread the words.  The Chitauri hadn’t simply been trying to get around the brain-jammers.  They were trying to breed weapons.  Extremely dangerous weapons.  Weapons that could rip guns out of soldiers’ hands before turning them on their previous owners.  Weapons that could convince an entire squadron to suddenly stop fighting and jump off a cliff to their deaths.

Subject three, codename: Winter -- and how odd, part of his shocked mind thought, that all these codenames translated to English words beginning with the letter ‘W’ -- Telepathic ability: medium-high.  Unique trait: short-range teleportation, resulting in the ability to phase through solid matter, like a spirit.  Additional note on subject: left arm amputated upon entry into program.  Replacement arm operating under acceptable parameters.

Subject four … no codename.  Telepathic ability: low.  Additional note: telepathic ability increased when in presence of subject two.  Genetic link suspected as cause.  Unique trait (desired): increased strength and stamina.  Unique trait (actual): increased speed.  Status: failure.  Subject deemed unserviceable.  Termination scheduled.

Bruce’s heart sank.  “Genetic link”.  Subjects two and four had been related, and four had been deemed a failure and scheduled to be killed.  Sadly, he began searching through the files for confirmation that the execution had in fact taken place.  To his surprise, he found nothing of the sort, but he did find a file on subject four that none of the others had had.  It appeared to be a summary of the subject’s experimentation program, presumably for the scientists’ supervisors.  It had most of the information he had already read, just in condensed form and with wording that was less clinical and more suited to the average reader.  Towards the end, however, it included information that had not been in any of the previous files and had also been absent from the files of the other three subjects: an actual photograph of subject four.

Bruce stopped breathing.  Redness began to slowly creep into the edges of his vision as he stared and stared at the screen.  Before he realized it, his fists were clenched, his teeth were grinding together, and his gaze was a tunnel of red, burning straight down at that terrible, horrible photograph.  Violently, he jerked his head to the side and gasped in great lungfuls of air.

_Find your center.  Find your center.  Stay calm.  Focus.  Focus._ **_Focus!_ **

“Doc?  You okay?”

_Do not do this, Bruce.  You haven’t lost it in almost ten years.  Do not backslide now.  Find your center.  Find it.  Find it now._

Slowly, far too slowly, Bruce got his breathing under control.  For several heartbeats, he focused his entire mind on the process of breathing in and out.  Then, he shifted his focus to his hands and carefully felt each finger uncurl, noticed but did not dwell on the points of pain in his palms from where his nails had bit into the skin.  He was calm.  He was controlled.  He was not going to hurl his mug of tea across the room or put his fist through any of this lovely, expensive equipment.

“Bruce?  Bruce, you with us?  Talk to me, buddy.”

Stark’s voice was right beside him, the very slight pressure of the man’s hand on his upper arm.  Carefully, Bruce opened his eyes and turned his head to find Tony kneeling right beside him, his face lined with worry.  Barton, he could see, was also watching him from navigation, his expression similarly upset.  Odinson was nowhere to be found; presumably he had left the bridge while Bruce was looking at the files.

_Don’t think about the files._

“Okay, eyes open is good,” Stark commented, “but not talking is still worrying.  And you know, I hate to break it to you, but you’re the doctor on this ship.  If you need us to take care of you, you’re going to have to tell us how.”

Somehow Bruce managed a lopsided smile for Stark’s sake.  “I’m fine,” he croaked, then amended, “Actually, no.  No, I’m not.  But I’ll manage.”  He closed his eyes for one more slow breath in and out, then opened them again and reached shaking fingers towards the screen to page the captain’s room.

“Rogers here.”

“Captain, I’ve found something I think you should see.”

“Be right there.”

Turning his head, he asked Stark, “Where did Thor go?”

“Mess,” his friend answered.  “Said he wanted something to eat.”

“Go get him, will you?  Everyone should be here for this.” 

Stark nodded once, his expression still tight but slightly more at ease now that Bruce was talking.  He rose to his feet and took a few steps toward the exit, but then he stopped, came back, and handed Bruce his now-cold tea.  Once Bruce took it with a small smile, Stark resumed his exit, swiftly leaving the bridge on his errand.

He wanted to close that file, but he knew he would just have to open it again once the others arrived, so instead he swiveled his chair away and stared at the stars while he sipped cold tea.  It didn’t matter, though.  He knew he would never again be able to get that face out of his head.  Years from now, he would close his eyes and see it: dirty blond hair hanging limply across a pale forehead, sunken cheeks loudly proclaiming malnourishment, and that look of silent despair in the depths of haunted, blue, and above all _human_ eyes.

xXx 

Steve was extremely glad that he had sat down to hear Banner’s report on what he had found.  If he hadn’t, he surely would have fallen ungracefully on his ass.  As it was, he didn’t think he would be able to stand again for a very, very long time.

“I think I’m actually gonna be sick,” Barton said first, breaking the thick silence.

Steve agreed.

“No,” Stark commented, his voice pitched high.  “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.  That’s not right.  That’s fucking _impossible_.  Everyone _knows_ Chitauri don’t take prisoners.  That’s, like, rule number one for dealing with these monsters: shoot them and don’t stop because if they get to you, you’re dead.”

Steve shut his eyes and tried unsuccessfully to repress a shudder from coursing through him.  There were voices in his head crying out for his attention.  He was used to hearing them, had heard them almost every damn night for years, but now was not a good time for them to make an appearance.

_“Just go!  Get out of here!”_

_“No!  Not without you!”_

“Monsters,” Odinson echoed from somewhere behind him.  “Indeed.”

Stark was babbling now.  “I mean, we established this years ago.  In the first fucking year of the war.  We were like, ‘Hey guys, we have some of your men.  How about we swap for some of ours?’ and they were like, ‘Sure, that sounds great except for the fact that we don’t _have_ any of your men because we killed them all.’”

_“Fall back!  Fall back right fucking now!”_

_“No!  No, I have to go back!”_

_“God dammit, Rogers, he’s dead!  If the fall didn’t kill him, the lizards did.  They don’t take anyone alive.  He’s dead, and we’re about to be too if we don’t fall back RIGHT NOW!”_

Steve shook himself hard.  He didn’t have the time to deal with these particular ghosts at the moment.  “Bruce,” he said quietly, the steadiness of his voice a godsend, “did you think to run face-recognition on subject four?”

“I did,” Banner replied, equally subdued.  “There was no match against the military records.”  He paused briefly, and when he spoke again, there was an additional tremor to his voice, “I didn’t actually expect to find one, because … well … the files said that subjects two and four were … related …”

“Oh, _fuck!_ ” Barton exploded, slamming his hands against his console.  “Civilians!  Those goddamn motherfuckers experimented on _civilians!_ ”  He clutched his head in both hands and roared in rage.

“Barton, my friend, please calm down.”

The sniper snapped his head up and glared at Odinson.  “No, I fucking won’t!  When Soko Colony fell, the only thing keeping me sane, the _only thing_ , was knowing that those poor people died quickly and without suffering.  And now I find out that they didn’t?  That they were turned into fucking _lab rats?_   Those Chitauri are goddamn lucky they’re dead already, or I would be down there right now tearing them to pieces myself!”

Steve opened his eyes, his gaze unfocused.  His instincts were going crazy again.  There was something he had missed.  Something important.

“At least it’s over now,” Banner was saying, attempting to soothe Barton’s anger.  “They’re not suffering anymore.”

“How can you be so sure?” Stark questioned.  “They could have been shipped off to another base, in which case, I might add, we are royally screwed because they sound dangerous as hell.”

“No,” Banner answered him, “they didn’t get shipped out.  There are messages between the base and the Chitauri homeworld about their progress which mention possible deployment in battle, but the timetables for that were months in the future.”  He sighed gently and concluded, “Whatever destroyed that base must have killed them as well.”

_Whatever destroyed that base …_

Steve bolted upright in his seat.  “Bruce, tell me again what the unique trait on the first subject was.”

“Um, suggestive empathy.  The notes say she could erase a subject’s will and replace it with her own.”

_Bodies shot under the chin, as if the shooter had committed suicide._

“And the second subject?”

“Telekinesis.”

_Bodies torn apart, limbs ripped from their torsos._

“The third?”

“Short-range teleportation.”

_That didn’t match up to anything, unless …_

“You said he lost an arm?”

“Yes, and had another grafted on.”

“Except that the Chitauri probably wouldn’t have given him another human arm, would they?”

“I … suppose not?”

_Bodies with great gashes in their chests as if attacked by some vicious, clawed animal._

“And the fourth was what?  Super speed?”

“Yes.”

_“For a millisecond at the most, the scanners think they picked up a lifesign.”_

He was an idiot.  A first-class, grade-A idiot.  Nothing had risen out of the lower levels to attack them, and because of that, he had completely forgotten that their scanners had only managed to reach three floors down.

“JARVIS!” he shouted, rising from his seat like a shot.  “Scan the Chitauri base for life signs.”

“Yes, sir,” the AI replied, “although I regret to inform you that, at this range, I can only scan twenty feet below the surface.”

“Shit,” Steve breathed, causing his men to stare at him even harder.  They could see that his mind was on fire, but they had yet to figure out why.  “Divert ten percent from life support to scanners.”

“The most efficient way to do that will be to lower the temperature of the living spaces.  Is that acceptable?”

“Yes, do it.  Just make sure we don’t freeze.”

“Acknowledged, Captain.”

“Steve,” Stark asked.  “What the hell are you doing?”

Steve waved him off impatiently as the temperature on the bridge suddenly dropped at least twenty degrees.  “Well, JARVIS?  How far down do those basements go?”

“The scanners are able to fully reach four levels below the surface,” JARVIS answered him.  “However, there is a fifth level, and only a few feet of it can be detected.”

“Increase power to scanners.  Get it from wherever you can.  Just don’t kill us or let us drop out of orbit.  I want every level scanned.”  He lifted his eyes to meet Stark’s stunned gaze and stated grimly, “I’m putting our lives in the hands of your tech, Tony.  I hope you’re as much of a genius as you say you are.”

Stark swallowed, but his expression evened out into one of determination and confidence.  He nodded once.  “Count on it.”

“Four life signs detected, Captain. Fifth subterranean level.  No further levels detected,”

His men all started with surprise, but Steve’s focus only sharpened further.  “Human?”  When the AI didn’t answer immediately, he barked, “JARVIS, is the signature on those life signs human?”

“Confirmed, Captain.  Four human life signs detected.”

Heat flooded back into the bridge as JARVIS correctly determined that the increased scanners were no longer necessary, but Steve could hardly feel it.  His heart was racing with the terrifying thrill of being right.

“Holy shit,” Barton breathed, and the faces of his other men reflected similar sentiments.  They had finally made the connections for themselves.

Steve turned to address them, willing his heart to slow down, his breath to even, his hands to stop shaking.  “They’re alive.  They killed every Chitauri in that base on their own, and they are still alive.”


	2. Chapter 2

He sat in the corner, hiding in the shadows of the red-dark, and watched the fingers of his Them-hand slowly curl and uncurl, curl and uncurl.

The Unknown were gone.  He did not know if they would return.  He did not know if he wanted them to return.  If they did, he knew they would still hide.  Unknown could not be trusted.  Even if they were Us.

Curl and uncurl.  Curl and uncurl.

Two-He had confused him at first with what he had seen.  The images Two-He had shared certainly were not Them, but they did not look like Us either.  The Unknown looked bulky and soft, and they had round, glass heads.  But Two-He had guided his sight to inside the glass heads, and inside he had seen faces and he had understood.  The glass heads were covers, like the face-cover and the head-pain-giver.  What was underneath the cover was, in fact, Us.

Idly, he wondered if the glass heads were as painful to the Unknown as the head-pain-giver had been for them.

Curl and … keep curled.

She gently touched his mind.  He had been waiting for one of them to do so.  Two-She had been hovering at the edges of his mind for minutes but had not found the courage to brush him.  He knew that Two-She still felt regret; he knew also that she knew he did not understand why.

Uncurl.  Curl and uncurl.

He pressed gently against the touch in his mind, and She responded with a sensation he knew well.

**Hunger**

**_Yes_ **

He touched Two-She gently with the same sensation mixed with questioning.  Two-She hesitated briefly before answering.

_… -- Yes_

Two-He’s mind was blank.  He had fallen asleep with Two-She’s mind wrapped protectively around his.

**I?**  She questioned.

Curl and uncurl.  And move.

**_No_ **

**_I_ **

The Unknown were gone, but they could come back.  Food was Up and Up.  If there was danger, he could fall through two Downs to get back to them quickly.  It would hurt, but pain was little if it meant he could protect.  Only Two-He would be faster, and he was asleep.

He picked up the face-cover with his Us-hand and fitted it over his mouth and nose.  He sent one final thought to She.

**_Protect_ **

She replied in kind.

**Protect**

He headed for the stairs.  The shortest path.  It did not include a door.

xXx

The benefit to being an eccentric billionaire genius inventor was that Tony could stick his nose into just about everything and not get it smacked too hard, if at all.  Actually, there were _lots_ of benefits of being an eccentric billionaire genius inventor, but one of them was definitely being able to stick his nose into just about everything.  It was how he had discovered that Fury was assembling an elite strike team, led by Mr. Hero of Mars himself, Steve Rogers.  Of course he had needed to be a part of that, because it couldn’t be elite if he wasn’t involved.  Didn’t matter if it was dangerous; he got to tinker with stuff, then use it to go out and blow up aliens.  Sounded like every little boy’s dream.

Of course, that was before they were dealing with those aliens’ experiments who could tear you apart with their minds.  Tony really didn’t like the thought of being sent home to Pepper in a box, or even worse, a bunch of little boxes.  Thankfully, Captain Dudley Do-Right had enough sense to not jump right back in the lander and try to go rescue them immediately.  Just because Speedy Gonzalez and his friends hadn’t killed them the first time they were there didn’t mean they wouldn’t get annoyed by another visit.  They needed a plan before facing this unknown threat; not having one would be tantamount to climbing into the little boxes themselves.

And that was where Tony came in.  The man with all the plans.  Well, the man with all the technical specifications.  The second batch of files JARVIS had decoded had included a bunch of specs on the devices the lizards used to contain their little super-telepaths.  If Tony could understand them and then could somehow reverse engineer them, he might be able to build something that could protect the lowly normal humans on his team from having their minds melted before they could mount a proper rescue.

His coffee was almost gone, so he got up and crossed to the other side of his lab to fill it again.  That was another benefit of being a billionaire genius; he may not have designed the ship, but he had managed to get his hands on it for long enough to build himself a killer workroom, full of all kinds of toys to play with.  After all, he had to make sure that the tanks, the flyers, and the lander always worked, that JARVIS stayed functional, that their suits had no problems, and that he himself never got bored because that’s when _really_ bad shit started happening.  And when they ran out of coffee; bad stuff happened then, too.

Sipping happily at a new cup of caffeine, Tony walked back to his work area, passing a sleeping Banner on the way.  The good doctor had come down to Tony’s lab to keep him company and to continue searching for information on the human male whose picture had been in those files, but alas, the man only drank tea and had lasted barely three hours.  Such weakness was almost endearing.

“Excuse me, sir,” JARVIS said as Tony slid back into his seat.

“Whatcha got, buddy?”

“I have completed the facial recognition scans that Doctor Banner requested, and the results contain a 92% positive match.  However, the doctor is not currently awake and did not give me instructions on whether or not to wake him upon completion of my task.”  His AI seemed to hesitate slightly before adding, “I require advice for the proper course of action, sir.”

Tony snorted lightly.  “I thought I programmed you to evaluate the situation and make those decisions yourself.”

“You did, sir, which is why I am giving you the opportunity to volunteer to review the results yourself and allow Doctor Banner to continue sleeping.”

Tony blinked.  And blinked again.  And started laughing.  “JARVIS, you sneak!” he crowed.  “Yes, yes, give them to me.  Leave Sleeping Beauty alone.  I’ll do his work for him, the lazy bum.”

“Transferring data to your screen, sir,” JARVIS announced quietly as Tony continued to laugh at his AI and all the ways he continued to surprise him.

Once he had recovered himself, Tony slid the schematics he had previously been looking at to the side and enlarged the section of the screen that held the results of the face recognition scans that Banner had been running.  It looked like he had compared Subject Four’s photograph to the databases from Soko Colony, a fairly logical place to start when looking for civilians who might have been captured by the Chitauri.  The match that JARVIS had mentioned was in a list of colonists who had arrived at the outpost six years ago.

“Pietro Maximoff,” Tony read, scanning his eyes over the colonist’s data.  “Parents dead.  Arrived with sister Wanda Maximoff.  Twins, huh.”  The attached picture showed a face that was younger, healthier, and clean-shaven, but it was undoubtedly the same face.  He switched over to the data for the sister and found a similar young face, this one with long brown hair and dark, shy eyes.  “God, they were just kids.  They’re _still_ just kids.”

Cursing all thing lizard, Tony attached both pictures to the report he and Banner had been putting together for Rogers.  Then he ran an algorithm on the girl’s picture to age her six years and starve her a bit, thereby creating a picture of what she might look like now.  He attached that as well before saving all the results neatly for Banner to review when he woke and returned to his previous task of pawing through the schematics.

“No … no … interesting but not useful … no … Hello, what are you?”  Tony’s fingers grabbed at a schematic and flicked his wrist to bring it up before him, enlarged and in 3D.  It was clearly some kind of head device that also had a visor in the front to block out the wearer’s vision.  He spun it around, looking carefully at the mechanics and at the notes that also had popped up in 3D for him to read.  “Exterior amplifies external telepathic signals … okay, so the lizards get amped.  Interior reflects portion of wearer’s telepathic signals back into the brain … and the kids get muted.  Points of contact at temples and back of head emit erratic pain signals to cause confusion and disruption of concentration.  Ouch.  That’s just rude.”

A link at the bottom corner of the image had been flashing at him for a few minutes, so Tony clicked on it.  A second, smaller window popped up and began to play a video featuring a Chitauri against the backdrop of what appeared to be a laboratory.  The Chitauri chittered at the screen in its own language, gesturing occasionally at something just off-camera, before moving aside and allowing two other Chitauri to bring what they were dragging into view.

“Winter, I presume,” Tony murmured to himself, noting the less-than-human left arm.  He paused the video to zoom in on the man’s face, but he was wearing the anti-telepathy helmet with the visor down so all Tony could see were the man’s teeth gritted in determination.  “That is not helpful,” he complained, unpausing the video and zooming back out.  The first Chitauri continued talking to the viewer, pointing out bits of the helmet and at one point, from what Tony could tell, goading Winter into trying to do something to him.  Tony couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like Winter was completely ignoring the taunts, focusing on keeping himself from responding to the pain he was obviously feeling.

“I’m impressed, man,” Tony told Winter’s image after a few minutes of watching him.  “No wonder you eventually tore them apart.”  He stopped the video and closed the window; he had seen enough.

“So,” he said, clapping his hands together lightly and then rubbing them a bit as he looked at the model of the helmet, “let’s see if I can turn this thing inside out.  I don’t know how much amping up a normal human’s telepathic abilities will help, considering we don’t have any, but I like the thought of reflecting bad vibes back to the one throwing them.”  He dove his fingers into the model and starting pulling things apart.

“Get rid of these things.  Don’t need to cause pain anymore, and really, that’s a nasty thing to do to someone.  Real mad scientist.  Or super-villain.  Neither of which I am, so goodbye to you.  Now, what are you made of … ?”

“Sir?” JARVIS’s voice interrupted as gently as it could.

“Not now, JARVIS.  I’m being brilliant.”

“I am aware of that, sir, but I have just finished translating a set of transmissions sent to the base.  These transmissions were sent within the last few days, sir, presumably after the deaths of the base’s inhabitants; therefore, they remain unanswered.”

Tony sighed at his AI as he disassembled and zoomed and moved and reassembled.  “JARVIS, I don’t listen to my own voicemail.  What makes you think I want to hear some damn lizard’s?”

“Well, sir,” JARVIS replied with ineffable patience, “these particular messages were left by a member of the Chitauri government to whom the scientists at the base were reporting.  The messages convey an increasing amount of anxiety at the lack of response, and the final message, received two days ago states the government official’s intent to send a warship to investigate the base’s status.”

Tony’s fingers stilled.  Slowly, he sat back in his chair.  “Well, shit.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“How long until it gets here?”

“I cannot say for certain, not knowing its departure point, but based on currently-known Chitauri strongholds, I would estimate that the warship will not arrive any earlier than in thirty-nine hours’ time.”

Tony sighed and leaned back to stare at the ceiling.  “One warship is nothing.  We can take that down easily.  But once the _warship_ doesn’t report in, they’ll send a serious fleet.  So, what?  We have a week at most to get the guinea pigs out before all hell breaks loose?”

“That is a fair estimate, sir, yes.”

“Lovely.”  Closing his eyes, Tony took a slow breath in and let it out again.  Then, he slammed both hands on his thighs in determination.  “Right then!  I’d better get back to being brilliant.”  As his fingers began to fly again, he ordered, “JARVIS, put that info in the report for the captain, would you?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Hope Rogers is getting some good sleep,” he commented wryly.  “He’s going to need it.”

xXx

Steve jerked awake, mind instantly alert, the sounds of battle still ringing in his ears.  His heart was pounding, his breathing too fast, so he placed a hand over his heart, closed his eyes, and tried to focus on slowing everything back down again.  It didn’t help that the nightmare lingered and that the afterburn of its images still glowed in his mind.  He had had practice, though.  So much practice.  Almost five years worth of it.  Sometimes it seemed like five hundred.

Within minutes, he was calm again, but he knew from experience that his sleep was ruined so he threw off the covers and got out of bed.  As always, his eyes fell on the picture frame that he kept on his bedside table, and as always, he took it in his hands to gaze at the two faces within it.  One was his: a fair bit younger, a lifetime happier.  The other was the face of his nightmares.

_“I can get by on my own.”_

_“The thing is you don’t have to.”_

His mother had taken this picture on Steve’s sixteenth birthday.  They had their arms around each other, grinning like idiots.  The beautiful red sands of Mars stretched out behind them, slightly blurred in places where the sun caught the edges of the observation dome just right.  That day had been the first time Steve had put on a spacesuit and been allowed to leave the interior of the colony.  He could still see the way the sands fell through his gloved fingers as he picked up handful after handful.  Could still see the expression of fond amusement on his best friend’s face at the utter awe that had been in his own.

_“You really gonna do this?”_

_“There are men laying down their lives.  I got no right to do any less than them.”_

Steve dragged his finger across the picture, sending the first one away and bringing forth the second picture in this particular frame.  This one had been taken soon after they had enlisted.  He couldn’t remember who the cameraman had been; one of the other soldiers, likely now dead.  They stood side by side in their suits, helmets held at the side, both staring at the camera without smiling.  They had only had a few months of training.  They were little more than cannon fodder compared to the soldiers who had arrived from Earth.  But the Chitauri were only days from invading, and the sons and daughters of Mars had risen up to defend their home.

_“Just go!  Get out of here!”_

_“No!  Not without you!”_

_“Are you crazy?  I’ll just slow you down!  Leave me!”_

_“Not a chance!  Now come on!”_

The last picture in the frame he had taken himself.  His subject never knew he had been photographed, caught forever in a moment of quiet reflection.  Blue eyes gazed up at the stars, the face they sat in pale but serene.  They had been fighting for two days.  The Chitauri had established a foothold in the mountains, but the Earth troops had managed to keep them away from the colony itself.  A few hours after he had taken this photo, Steve had marched back into battle.  A few hours after that, the photo’s subject suffered a laser blast through the shoulder.  Less than an hour after that, as they retreated together, Steve had heard a shout of warning, had felt a strong shove, and had fallen to the ground as a Chitauri flyer zoomed over his head, caught his best friend in the stomach, and drove him several feet through the air and over the edge of a cliff.

_“No!  No, I have to go back!”_

_“God dammit, Rogers, he’s dead!”_

After that, Steve had done everything in his power to get himself killed.  Somehow, he ended up winning instead.  Somehow, he saved thousands of lives, got himself named an interplanetary hero, and got recruited by Fury who recognized Steve’s true suicidal nature and piled a ton of therapy on him until he recovered.  But he knew that he would never recover completely.  Not from this.

Gently, Steve replaced the picture frame on his table and walked over to his computer.  The past would never stop haunting him, but the present was important, too.  He checked his messages, hoping that Stark and Banner had finished their report for him, and found to his satisfaction that they had.  He read it all, including JARVIS’s addendum about the Chitauri warship, and then read it all a second time.  Once he had finished, he crossed his arms over his chest and sat back in his chair, frowning.

A week.  One week to complete a rescue and get out of this sector of space before an army arrived.  And far less time than that before Fury would be breathing down his neck demanding an update.  Steve trusted his supervisor, but the man had supervisors of his own whom Steve trusted a whole lot less.  The four souls down on that planet may have been turned into weapons, but they were still people, still human.  Above all, they were victims, and while he would never allow himself to forget that, he knew there were people who would for the sake of knowledge or power.  Steve had a terrible feeling that, if he made a full report, his team would be ordered elsewhere to make way for a “rescue team” that would put those four back into a situation very similar from the one they had just escaped.

Looking back down at the report, Steve let his eyes linger on the photos of the Maximoff siblings and felt his heart sink.  “They must have realized it, too,” he murmured to himself, “and that’s why they didn’t show themselves, even after finding out we were human.”  Steve bit his lip as he replayed their time in the base in his mind.  They had come in like the soldiers they were, guns visible and ready to fire.  A clear threat.  “Being human may have been the only thing that saved our lives.”

They were going about this all wrong, Steve realized with a shiver of sadness.  If they wanted these POWs to come with them, they were going to have to do far more than swoop in and save the day.  They were going to have to gain their trust, and so far, everything they had done or were considering doing was more likely to do the exact opposite.  The right thing to do, well, Steve thought he knew what that would entail and it went against every shred of self-preservation he had.

He would do it, though.  He knew he would.  Because Steve wasn’t the kind of man who could look at a victim’s face and then walk away without even trying.

Sighing gently, Steve rose and walked back to his bedside table.  He didn’t pick up the frame again, but he did address the subject of the photo when he commented, “Guess you didn’t take _all_ the stupid with you.”

Ten minutes later, fully dressed and on a mission, Steve left his quarters, the door closing softly behind him.

xXx

While Thor would not have considered himself a “morning person”, per se, he did enjoy them.  There was something invigorating in starting a new day.  His morning routine always filled him with the joy of possibility and the knowledge that something was beginning just as his evening routine brought him closure and allowed him to rediscover calm and peace.  He never had a particularly large burst of energy directly after waking up, but neither did he understand why his friends Stark and Barton dragged their bodies around and had such terrible attitudes until mid-morning.

Sam Wilson had once said that it was because the view outside the window is always dark when one is in space.  Thor supposed he understood that, but he himself had never been tied to the cycle of any one star.  He had lived most of his life on deep-space ships, had grown up on them along with his younger brother, so he was used to the sight of velvet blackness dotted with the diamond light of faraway stars.  The day began in the morning and ended in the evening, and life could not get simpler than that.

Most of his mornings began in the gym, and this morning was no exception.  He had just finished with the weights and was about to move onto some light cardio when he realized he was not alone.

“Captain!” he called to the figure who stood within the door to the room, half within and half without.  “A good morning to you!”

“Good morning,” his captain returned with a smile.  Rogers was also a person who enjoyed mornings, so seeing him here was not a surprise.  However, he usually would enter the room and begin an exercise routine of his own, not linger in the doorway as he was doing now.  He appeared to hesitate for a moment, then asked, “Do you have a minute?  I need to talk to you.”

Thor grabbed the towel that he had hung on a nearby set of weights and mopped at the sweat on his brow.  “Of course,” he replied and began to close the distance between them.  As he got closer, he could see the subtle tension in his captain’s shoulders, so he asked, “Is something the matter?”

Rogers blew a quiet breath between pursed lips before shaking his head.  “Not exactly.  Come on,” he added with a wave of his hand.  “Let’s go to the mess.  You can get something to drink while we talk.”

Thor narrowed his eyes at this evasive answer but followed Rogers without comment.  When they reached the mess, he got himself a drink as had been suggested while his captain served himself a light breakfast.  They settled at one of the empty tables together.

“I need a favor,” Rogers began.  “I could just order you to do it, but I’d rather if you did it willingly.”

“Of course,” Thor replied immediately.  “Name it, and I will be happy to assist.”

But his captain waved a hand at him to cut him off before he could say more.  “Don’t say that until you’ve heard what I’m asking.  Because you’re not going to like it.   _I_ don’t like it, and I’m the one asking.”

He wanted to protest further, but the gravity in the other man’s face stilled his tongue.  Subdued, he merely nodded.

Rogers nodded back once, then dropped his eyes to his plate.  He pushed potatoes around with a fork as he revealed, “I’m going back down to the planet to try to make contact with the POWs.  Alone.  I want you to be my support.”

Thor did not answer right away.  If pressed, he would have said he was weighing the import of his captain’s words.  In truth, he was simply too stunned to respond.  Eventually, he managed, “I do not think that is wise.”

“It isn’t,” Rogers admitted with a grimace, “but I honestly think it’s the best course of action for us to take right now.”

“I thought we had agreed to wait until Stark could create a device to protect us from any telepathic attacks.”

“We did, but then I realized how bad of an idea that is.”

Thor laughed shortly with no humor in the sound.  “I would have thought,” he commented, “that guarding oneself from attacks would be a good idea.”

His captain simply shook his head.  “Not in this case.”  Lifting his eyes to meet Thor’s, he explained, “Those people down there had their lives stolen from them.  The Chitauri made them less than human, turned them into monsters.  If we approach them while only thinking about our own safety, we’re basically saying to them, ‘We’re afraid of you because, yeah, you’re monsters.’  And if we go so far as to go in wearing those helmets that Tony found …”  He shook his head again, clearly upset by the thought.  “The Chitauri used those things to torture them.  We show up with those on our heads, and we might as well just kill ourselves and save everyone the trouble.”

Thor folded his hands on the table in front of him and considered what Rogers had said.  He was not well-versed in psychology the way Wilson was, but it did make sense to him.  “So, you concluded that the best way to make contact is to go in without defenses in order to make them feel less threatening and remind them of their humanity?”

“Essentially,” the other agreed.  “One person, unarmed, trusting.  They’re telepaths, so they should easily be able to pick up on my intentions.  I go in thinking only of them, not of myself.  Hopefully they’ll have enough trust in return to at least make themselves known.  To let me talk to them.”

“And if they don’t?” he asked, not wanting to consider that possibility but knowing it existed.

Rogers forced a smile and a half-hearted shrug.  “If they don’t, it will be up to you to report the situation to Fury and lead the team on whatever mission he gives you next.”

Thor’s heart sank, and a great weight settled in his stomach.  “No.  No, Captain --”

“I know you wanted this command,” the other man interrupted quietly.  His smile had turned kind and gentle.  “I know you were upset when I got it instead.”

And that hurt even more.  He shut his eyes against the pain of it.  “I did,” he admitted.  “I was.  But only at first.”  His eyes flew open, and he leaned across the table to emphasize the gravity he felt.  “You are a far better leader than I.  You deserve this command far more than I did.  I have learned so much from you.  I have so much more yet to learn.”

An idea occurred to him then, and he reached out to take Rogers by the wrist.  “Let me go,” he begged.  “If one of us must risk his life, let it be me.”

But his captain was already shaking his head again.  “I can’t.  All of your lives are my responsibility.  I can’t -- I _won’t_ put any of them at risk if I can help it.”

“Steven … I ...”

“I’ve made up my mind, Thor,”  Rogers cut him off, still smiling that gentle smile.  “Please don’t make me order you.  Besides,” he added when Thor lowered his head, “this isn’t necessarily a death sentence.  Yes, it could all go south pretty quickly, but it also could be a brilliant success.”  He grinned a little, showing the optimism that Thor appreciated so much.

“Indeed,” Thor replied, allowing himself to smile a bit in return.

Rogers finished his breakfast quickly after that, and soon Thor found himself on the bridge, giving orders to JARVIS to allow the lander to launch.  He knew there was going to be a hellish commotion once the others awoke, but he would deal with that in its own time.  Now, he simply watched the craft containing a man he greatly admired slowly descend from orbit towards the planet below with all its dangers.  Within his chest, his heart ached.

Alone on the bridge, with no one there to see, Thor crisply saluted and prayed in his native tongue, “Gud går med deg, min elskede kaptein.”

xXx

Steve set the lander down a little closer to the base this time but still far enough away that the roar of its engines wouldn’t spook anyone inside.  He also left the tank a good quarter of a mile away and crossed the rest of the distance on foot.  He wanted the four to know as soon as possible how little of a threat he was to them.

As he walked, he checked in with Odinson over the coms.  “How’s the base look?” he asked.  “Any movement?”

“Negative, Captain,” the answer came, “although JARVIS would like to remind you that he can only scan two levels below the surface.”

“I’m aware of that, but they’ll have to come through those levels to get to me.  If anyone other than Maximoff approaches, JARVIS will be able to give me fair warning.  And if it’s Maximoff, I won’t have any warning even with the scanners going all the way down.”

Odinson took a moment before answering, and when he did, Steve could hear the strain in his voice.  “Acknowledged.  I will notify you if the situation changes.”

Steve did not want to think about the concern his friend was clearly feeling.  He didn’t want to think about much at all at the moment.  “Roger that.”

He had about 200 yards left to go when his speaker crackled and an angry voice grumbled in his ear.  “Dammit, Rogers.  What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Morning, Clint,” he replied, smiling in spite of himself.  “How are you this fine morning?”

“How do you _think_ I am?” Barton griped at him.  “ _Jesus_ , Steve.  I have worked with some idiots in my time, seen them do some pretty stupid things, but _this_ …”  He trailed off, but Steve briefly heard the worry he was trying to hide behind the anger.  “And _you_ ,” he continued.  “You _let_ him go?”

“Don’t blame Thor, Clint,” Steve jumped in before the man could start a fight on the bridge.  “I didn’t exactly give him much choice.”

“He could have tied you up and locked you in your room,” Barton grumbled.

“I’m pretty sure that’s called mutiny.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t give a shit if it means saving your life.”

Steve swallowed hard and walked on.  He had always known his men cared for him.  He just hadn’t realized how much until he had seen the pain in Thor’s eyes, heard it in Clint’s voice.

“You guys need to stop acting like I’m about to die here,” he told them, making a valiant effort at bringing up their spirits.  “I’m planning on letting them come to me, not going to them.  It’s very possible that they’ll just ignore me.”

“Sure, Captain,” Barton replied, but Steve could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

No one said anything more, and soon Steve found himself in front of the entrance to the base.  He paused before the entrance and gave himself a moment to gather his thoughts.  Closing his eyes and lowering his head a little, he thought of the Maximoff twins, their young faces, and the haunted look in the brother’s eyes.  He thought of the screenshot in Tony’s report of Winter in the helmet, the grim determination apparent in the set of the man’s jaw.  And he thought of the mysteries of the yet-unseen Widow, all the possible horrors that had yet to be discovered.

_I want to help you. **Please** let me help you._

He lifted his head, took one last steeling breath, and walked inside.

Nothing had changed in the half a day since they had left, at least not as far as Steve could see.  He didn’t bother investigating in any detail, however, and instead walked unhurriedly through the main room and down the hallway to the stairs.  He kept his flashlight low, focused only on the ground before him so he wouldn’t trip.

“Anything?” he checked in with his eyes in orbit.

“Not yet, Captain,” Odinson replied.  “Everything is still quiet.”

Steve hummed in acknowledgement and slowly began to descend the stairs.

“Captain,” Barton’s warning voice came immediately, “what are you doing?  You said you weren’t going to go looking for them.”

“At ease, soldier,” Steve replied, smiling slightly.  “I’m just going to try to get the life support working again.  Clear out the air and get the heat on.  Schematics said the controls are on the first basement level.”

“You’ll probably need Tony’s help for that,” Banner’s voice commented, surprising him.  “I’ll go wake him up.”

“Doctor!  How long have you been there?”

The disapproval in Banner’s voice was evident as he replied, “Long enough.  I do wish, Captain, that you had warned us about this little plan of yours.”

“Sorry for worrying you,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie.  He wouldn’t have done anything differently, but he did feel sorry for the anxiety he was causing his friends.

Banner came back with Stark a few minutes later, and Steve got to listen to another one of his friends telling him how much of a reckless idiot he was.  He had found the access panel to the life support systems, however, so the lecture didn’t last long.  Using the camera on Steve’s helmet, Stark walked him through rebooting the system and turning on the air purifiers.  The faintest hum began to resound from the walls and ceiling as they began working, and it made Steve smile.  He hadn’t liked the thought of the POWs breathing this terrible air; soon, they wouldn’t have to.

“Okay,” Stark was saying in his ear, “that’s one thing fixed.  What else do you want to boot up?”

“There an incinerator somewhere on this floor,” Steve answered him.  “I’d like to get that thing running so I can start disposing of the corpses.  And I’ll want some lights at some point.  It’d be nice to see.”

“The lights I can do right here at this panel,” Stark stated.  “The incinerator, probably not.  I bet it has its own controls.”

Steve nodded.  That sounded reasonable.  He opened his mouth to ask Stark what to do about the lights, but Odinson’s voice interrupted him.

“Captain.  You are not alone.”

Steve closed his mouth, swallowed.  “Where?”

“Behind you.  In the doorway.  Maximoff.”

“Right,” he whispered to himself.  “Here goes.”  And he turned around.

The man in the doorway stood still, simply staring at him.  He wore a black mask over his mouth and nose, but Steve still recognized him from the photograph in the files.  The look he gave Steve was wary but not afraid.  He knew Steve could not hurt him.

Steve wished he could take his helmet off and talk to the other face to face, but the purifiers hadn’t cleared the air enough for that so he simply smiled as widely as he could and said, “Hi.  My name is Steve.  You’re Pietro, right?”

The man did not react, not even to his name.  His eyes continued to bore into Steve’s face, searching.

“Pietro Maximoff?” Steve tried again.  “You and your sister were on Soko Colony.  That’s right, isn’t it?”

Again, his words produced no reaction.

Slowly, Steve leaned slightly forward and asked, “Do you understand me?  Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Maybe he doesn’t speak English,” Stark’s voice suggested in his ear.  “Soko Colony was originally Russian, right?  Try talking to him in Russian.”

Steve huffed a short sigh, which thankfully Barton picked up on.  “I don’t think the captain speaks Russian, Tony.”

“Besides,” Banner interjected, “their colonization applications stated they both spoke English.  That isn’t the problem here.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Stark asked.

Steve shushed them gently.  He needed to focus on the man in front of him, not on the conversation going on miles above his head.  “Pietro,” he said kindly, “please.  I need you to talk to me.  I want to help you.  I want to help all of you.”

Finally, Maximoff moved, but only his eyes.  They flicked to the machine behind Steve’s right shoulder before returning to Steve’s face.  The next moment, Steve _felt_ something in his head.  It started as a soft tickle at the base of his skull, but it spread upwards through the back of his head to about an inch below the crown.  It felt warm and foreign, but not threatening.

“Are you … ?” he breathed.  “Are you trying to read my mind?”

Maximoff merely flicked his eyes to the instrument panel again, and then Steve felt a small pressure in his head.  It felt questioning.  No, it felt like a _question_.

“What am I doing with that?” he guessed, pointing behind him.  “I’m trying to make it more livable in here for you.  First by clearing the air, and then I was going to bring up the lights and the heat.  It’s probably fairly cold down on the fifth basement where you are, so I thought you might like that.  The lights, too, although now that I think about it, I should probably only bring them up halfway since you’ve been in the dark for a week now …”

He trailed off as he realized that he was babbling and that nothing he was saying seemed to be making any impression on the other man.  That questioning pressure in his head had not changed.  His words weren’t getting through.

“Don’t answer in words,” he murmured to himself.  “All right then.”

Steve closed his eyes.  In his mind, he pictured the room with its dirty air, its red emergency lighting, and its cold temperature.  Then, he pictured the machine behind him, imagined his fingers moving over it as they had done moments before.  Finally, he imagined the room as he wanted it to look with clean air, regular lights at half-brightness, and a comfortable temperature.

When he opened his eyes again, Maximoff had tilted his head slightly and was looking at him with far less intensity.  The pressure in his head receded although the warmth of the mental connection stayed.  For several long minutes, the two of them just stood there, gazing at each other.  And then, without warning, the warmth retreated and Maximoff disappeared.

“Captain,” Odinson called to him immediately, “are you all right?”

“Yes,” he answered, sighing, “I’m fine.  I’m fine.”  Tiredly, he turned back to the instrument panel and stared at its blinking lights.  “Tony,” he asked, “help me turn the lights on, would you?”

Stark hesitated, and he could tell that all his men desperately wanted an explanation as to what had just happened but Steve didn’t want to give it to them just yet.  “Roger that,” the other man finally responded in his usual tone.  “Don’t want to be tripping over everything anymore, eh, Rogers?”

“Not particularly, no,” Steve replied, allowing himself to smile.  With half his attention, he listened to Stark’s instructions and began working on bringing the lights back online.  The other half was too busy worrying about how much more complicated this rescue mission had become.  Maximoff hadn’t responded to a single one of his words; he hadn’t even seemed to know his own name.  How were they supposed to convince the four of them to trust them and come with them now?  How were they supposed to do it in a _week?_

There was one bright side to all of this though: he wasn’t dead.  At least not yet.

xXx

He had felt the single Unknown the moment it arrived but had decided to ignore it.  Even when the Unknown had come a little closer, he had insisted on patience even as She’s mind quivered with the desire to protect.  A single Unknown could not harm them, not from that far away.

But when the walls began to sing the song of the Machine, He knew he had made a mistake.  A single Unknown could do terrible harm if Machines were involved.  Immediately, he had sent Two-He to investigate.

Two-He’s report had been … strange.  The Unknown had not brought any pain-givers this time, which was good, but Two-He had had a very difficult time communicating with the Unknown.  It had kept making strange noises with its mouth and had seemed to have great difficulty speaking with its mind, almost as if it had never tried to speak before.  Two-He was not strong, not without Two-She beside him, but the Unknown had been far weaker and had not reciprocated the mind touch at all, had seemed almost surprised by it.

The entire situation confused him.  If the Unknown was Us, why could it not communicate as it should?  Why did the mind touch surprise it?  What was the purpose of the noises?  Surely _those_ weren’t meant to be communication.  That was how the Them communicated, not Us.  So what was the Unknown then?  Not Them, but not Us.  So what?

He had decided to find out for himself.

The light had appeared in the middle of Two-He’s report, and that made him both pleased and wary.  He liked the idea of clean breath and warmth -- light was less important -- but he worried that the gesture was meant to reduce their guard as prelude to a trap.  Two-He had declared that he felt no ill-intent in the Unknown, but He was unconvinced.  He was far stronger than Two-He; he would find out for certain.

The Unknown had not descended any further than it had before, although it seemed to be moving quite a bit.  As he went Up, Up, and Up, he felt the Unknown moving back and forth and then also going Up and Down, always returning to one spot before moving again.  One more Up, and he realized what the Unknown had done.  The dead bodies of Them were gone.  The Unknown had removed them.

Carefully, he moved further onto the floor and passed through a wall into the room where the Unknown kept returning.  The heat hit him immediately.  A Machine in this room held a blazing fire in its open mouth.  Slowly, he crept towards it, all the while keeping track of the Unknown who was currently Up.  Peeking in, he noticed several piles of blackened something within the Machine’s mouth.  Just barely, he could make out the scales of Them.  He smiled grimly below the face-cover.  The Unknown was feeding the dead Them to the Fire Machine.  He approved.

The Unknown was coming Down again, so he slipped into the corner, far from the Machine’s mouth and where the shadows overlapped to give him cover.  He waited.

A few moments passed before the Unknown entered the room, dragging a dead Them.  Its eyes flicked around the room, searching.  He slid just slightly out of the shadows, allowing himself to be seen.  Immediately, the Unknown’s eyes were on him, and the face within the glass cover smiled.  It dropped the legs of the Them it was dragging and straightened, turning to face him.  Its mouth moved.   _HiNicetomeetyouI’mSteve_.

Without hesitation, He touched the Unknown’s mind, letting his thoughts slide deeply into the other’s so that maximum communication could be achieved.

_Okayyou’rereadingmymindnowtooGuessthatmeansyoudon’tspeakEnglisheitherDamn._

He waited for any kind of return touch, but as Two-He had reported, there was none.  The Unknown simply stood there, as if waiting for him to speak first.  His mind held emotions, but nothing concrete.  If anything, it was a feeling of kindness.

_I’msorrybutIreallydon’tknowhowtocommunicatelikethisImeanIwanttohelpbutIdon’tknowhowtoletyouknowthat._

And now there was want.  Hurt.  Desire to … protect?  Interesting.

As an experiment, he let his eyes fall to the Them behind the Unknown, then lifted them to gaze into the Unknown’s eyes as he pushed a question into the other’s mind.  The Unknown began to make noise again, but stopped itself quickly.  Instead, it closed its eyes and began a muddy, confused sort of speech that attempted to explain how it was feeding the Them to the Machine.  When it finished, it opened its eyes again and gazed at him, seemingly tired from the effort.

He couldn’t help a quirk of his lips in humor at this poor Unknown.  Its earnestness and desire to communicate was singing through its mind, creating feedback that made him feel warm and happy.  But it was so ridiculously poor at communicating properly.  It was almost humorous.

So, the Unknown was definitely not Them and definitely not Us.  It was something else.  An ally?  Possibly.

As a test, He dove into the Unknown’s mind and gave him images.  Scenes from their destruction of Them.  How he ripped Them apart with his Them-hand and shot them with his Us-hand.  How She took control and made Them shoot themselves.  How Two-She choked and tore asunder.  How Two-He used his speed to protect, cover, and confuse.  He gave the Unknown all these images, then retreated almost completely from its mind and waited.

The Unknown looked stunned, unsteady on its feet.  Its mind pinged with shock and surprise.  Soon, however, it pulled itself together.  It gazed at him for a few heartbeats before its eyes slipped closed.  He slipped his thoughts back inside its mind as it began trying to speak once more, its images clouded as before.

It took several moments for him to understand what the Unknown was showing him, but once he did, his heart-rate increased with pleased surprise.  The Unknown was fighting Them, in places not unlike this one.  He dove into the other’s mind again, this time to help with the speech, to bring clarity to the images and to live alongside the memories as if He had been there as well.  He watched as the Unknown and its friends destroyed dozens of Them with large Machines, shot Them with their pain-givers as they invaded the Them’s hiding places, used Machines again to destroy those hiding places entirely.  Again and again and again.

He pulled back from the Unknown’s mind, grinning wildly underneath the face-cover.  An ally?  Oh, yes.  Definitely.

The Unknown was gasping from the effort of speaking.  It bent slightly, one hand on its knee for support, the other on its chest.   _Holycrap … whatthehell … wasthat._   Slowly, it lowered itself to the ground.  Once there, it reached up to the glass cover and, after a moment of moving its fingers around the edges, lifted the cover up and off of its head.  Its breath continued to come hard as it pulled at its hand, revealing a smaller Us-hand underneath which it then used to wipe at its forehead.   _Thatwas … intense … Doyouguysdothatallthetime._

And the Unknown smiled.

He blinked.  Without the cover, the Unknown’s face looked different.  It looked … familiar?

The Unknown was still smiling at him, and now it motioned to him and then its own face.   _YoucantakethatmaskoffifyouwantTheairfiltersareworkingnowTheairisfineforbreathing._  It paused in its noise-making, seemed to try to speak again, but then shook its head and went back to noise.   _Ican’tTootiredtoeventrySorryyou’regoingtohavetojustgetbyoncharadesfornow._

It mimed taking off the face-cover at him and then pretended to breathe loudly, but He ignored the whole thing.  The Unknown’s face.  There was something about its … no, _his_ face.  He knew him.  But that was not possible.  He had only existed in this place.  There had only ever been Us and Them.  This Unknown with his stupid face could not have ever have been here before now.

But he _knew_ him.

He had had enough.

A wave of disappointment hit him from the Unknown’s mind as he slipped backwards into the shadows again.   _OhareyougoingOkayMaybenexttimewecanmakesomemoreprogress._  The emotions coming from the other were honest, sad, and kind.  They hurt.  It was confusing.  He didn’t like confusing.

_MaybenexttimeyoucanshowmeyourfaceI’dreallyliketofindoutyourname._

He lifted his Them-hand and pressed it against the wall.  The Unknown was still gazing at him, his mind open and accepting.  Gently, he slid his own mind from the other’s and retreated completely.  A moment later, he pushed his Them-hand through the wall and walked through to the other side.  The Unknown did not follow him.

For some confusing reason, He wished he would.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve Rogers had the Devil’s luck.  Most people thought the Martian hero was a brilliant strategist and a charismatic leader and he was, but only after Fury had swept him up and polished all his natural talent into something sharp and gleaming.  Clint knew the real reason why Rogers had walked away from all those suicide missions: bull-headed stubbornness and pure, dumb luck.

And here he was again, back from a mission that could have killed him and that he had had no earthly business going on alone.  Sitting at the table and giving them all a briefing like he hadn’t just been the stupidest man to ever breathe.  Clint still wanted to tie him up and throw him in his room for a couple of days, just to emphasize that he should never do something like that again.

“So they’re non-verbal,” Banner was saying as Rogers finished up the description of his encounters.

“Completely,” the captain replied.  “Neither of them seemed to understand a word I was saying, and neither of them said anything of their own.  All of the communication was through thought only.”

“That must have been truly amazing,” Odinson grinned, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed.

A small bit of color touched the captain’s cheeks; he looked like a pleased kid.  “It was,” he admitted.  “Tiring as hell, but really amazing.”

“And really stupid,” Clint muttered, not enough under his breath that the others couldn't hear him.  “Coulda gotten your brains fried.”

Rogers had the decency to look sheepish.  “JARVIS,” he asked the computer, obviously trying to redirect their focus, “any luck with the face recognition for Winter?”

“Nothing above 43%, sir,” JARVIS replied with a touch of regret in his tone.

“Hard to get a good recognition match with only pieces,” Stark commented.  He had a handful of metal bits on the table in front of him and was fiddling with them non-stop.  “It was worth a try, though.”

“I suppose,” Rogers said with a small nod.  “Although,” he added after a moment, “knowing his name probably wouldn’t have helped us any.  Maximoff didn’t seem to know his name.”  He glanced over at Banner and asked, “Trauma, you think?”

The doctor nodded.  “Possibly.”

“So what’s our next step?” Stark asked.  “You made first contact, and that’s great, but I don’t think either side is any closer to trusting the other.  And we only have about a day before the Chitauri warship gets here.  So what’s the plan?”

They all looked at their captain who drummed his fingers on the table briefly before replying, “We need to figure out a way to better communicate with them.  They’re not going to feel safe around us and we’re not going to feel safe around them until we can break down this barrier and find a reliable way to talk to each other.”

“Well, trying to get them to speak our language doesn’t seem like an efficient way to do it,” Clint commented.  “So somehow we have to speak theirs.”

“Call me crazy but I don’t think our translation algorithms are going to work here,” Stark half-mumbled to himself.  “And I doubt I can program a new one to translate words to images in just a week.”

Clint snorted at him.  “The way you said that implies you could make one at all.”

Stark shifted big innocent eyes at him and blinked twice.  “Didn’t you hear?  I’m a genius.”

Clint just scoffed at him.

“How difficult was it for you to talk in their language of pictures, Captain?” Odinson asked.  “You said Winter actually entered your mind and assisted you?”

“Yes,” Rogers replied.  He was frowning slightly, and a small crease had appeared between his brows.  “He somehow enhanced my memory and focused my concentration, but it was exhausting.  He only did it for a minute or so, and I was completely out of breath when it was over.”  Shaking his head, he finished, “I would _not_ want to try to have an entire conversation that way.  And those were just memories.  I’m not sure how I would have tried to convey any original ideas to him, like getting the four of them to come with us.”

“You would have to have an excellent imagination,” Odinson suggested, “as well as good concentration and visualization skills.”

“I’ll do it.”

All eyes at the table immediately shifted to gaze surprisedly at the doctor who had spoken.  He was staring down at his hands, folded on the tabletop.  “I’ll do it,” he repeated.  “I’m very good at visualization.”  Briefly, he lifted his eyes and ran them around the room before returning them to his hands.  One shoulder shrugged as he explained, “I do meditation every day.”

“Bruce, you sure?” Stark asked him.  He was clearly concerned but hiding it well.  “It could still be kind of dangerous.”

Banner lifted his head and gave him a small but true smile.  “I’m sure.  I knew when I joined this team that it could be dangerous, even if the plan always was for me to hang back in the get-away car.”  He shifted his gaze to the captain and added, “And if there’s a way I can help those people, I’d like to do it.”

Rogers nodded at him, smiling.  “Of course.”  Turning his attention back to the entire table, he declared, “Then it’s settled.  We have one day before the warship gets here.  Tomorrow morning, the doctor and I will go down to the base and see how much we can communicate with the POWs.  I truly doubt we will make enough progress that both parties will be comfortable with them coming aboard, however, so once we have returned, we will need to prepare for battle.”

“Won’t be much of a battle,” Stark commented.

“True,” Rogers conceded, “but we should still prepare for it.  Are there any questions?”

“Yes,” Clint spoke up, “I have one.”  He set his eyes on the captain and paid very close attention to the man’s face when he asked, “What has Fury said in response to all this?”

And _there_.  There was the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth, the tiniest look of guilt around the eyes.

“I haven’t received any direct instructions from Commander Fury yet.  As of now, we are still operating under the parameters of our mission with additional orders at my discretion.”

And the tiniest hint of tension in his voice, even with the vague response.  Internally, Clint smiled.  Rogers wasn’t exactly a bad liar, but he wasn’t good enough to fool someone like Clint.  The fact that he was lying meant either Rogers had reported and received orders he didn’t want to follow and was therefore ignoring -- unlikely considering the captain’s relationship with his superiors -- or he hadn’t reported in at all.  And _that_ meant that Fury had been right and Rogers was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for.

Regardless, Clint let it go for now.  “Roger that.”

“I have not a question but a suggestion,” Odinson said, clearing the air with his bright smile and booming voice.  “Perhaps when you and the doctor return, you should take some food with you as a peace offering.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Rogers smiled at him, all tension now gone.  “They obviously have rations of some sort, but it’s probably all better suited to a Chitauri’s metabolism.  I imagine some human food would be welcome.”  

“I will be happy to offer up some of my fruit.”

“Aw man,” Stark whined at him.  “That’s the good stuff, and you’re just going to give it away?”

“I’m sure Thor can grow some more,” Banner laughed at his friend.

Clint grinned at the unhappy expression on Stark’s face and added, “They should make it a law that all ships have an ex-Deeper on the crew to grow food for them.  Keeps morale up.”

Odinson was beaming at the praise for his produce.  “I will be sure to tell my mother the next time I communicate with her of how much you appreciate my garden.  She will be well pleased, I am certain.”

“Ask her if her team has figured out yet how to make cows viable for space,” Clint requested.  When Rogers raised an eyebrow at him, he frowned and asked, “What?  Is it a crime to want some fresh cheese instead of that awful processed stuff?”

“Some fresh eggs would be nice, too,” Stark added.  “Oh, and some fresh _bacon!_  That would be heavenly.”

“Pigs are not appropriate for deep space travel,” Odinson informed them, shaking his head, “as they only yield consumable goods upon their deaths.”

“All right, enough!” Rogers was laughing at them.  He lifted one hand in the air and repeated, “Enough.  If there are no other questions or comments _in regards to the mission_ , you are all dismissed.  Thank you, gentlemen.  Go talk about being farmers somewhere else.”

Stark, Odinson, and Banner all rose and made their way out of the conference room, laughing and continuing the conversation about edible animals, but Clint took his time.  He made a show of stretching out his neck and shoulder muscles, thereby ensuring that everyone other than the captain had left the room by the time he was finished.  Rogers had not moved from his seat, his eyes staring down at a report that Banner or Stark had given him, but he looked up immediately when Clint approached and gave him a smile.

“Do you need something, Barton?” he asked.

“Nah,” Clint replied with a wave of his hand.  “I’m good.”  Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back against the table only a few feet away from the other man.  Casually, he asked, “You ever liked to write secret messages to your friends?  You know, when you were a kid?  Codes and cyphers and stuff?”  When Rogers just blinked at him, he elaborated, “Like, there’s one where you take the first letter of every word and put them together to get the actual message.  You ever do that?”

The other man shook his head, clearly confused as to why Clint was discussing this.  “No, I didn’t.  I mean, my best friend and I played around with substituting numbers for letters a few times, but we never did that one.”

“It’s fun sometimes,” Clint smiled at him.  “Although it can be tough to figure out what words to put so that your message is right and also have the actual letter be more than gibberish.  So sometimes it’s better to just have it be the first letter of each sentence.  Or each paragraph.”

Now Rogers was frowning at him.  “Barton, what are you -- ?”

“I’m just saying,” Clint interrupted with a pointed look, “that when you finally get around to writing that watered-down report for the Commander, it might be fun to spell something out.  Shouldn’t take you more than four paragraphs, right?  You could spell out the man’s name.  And then, who knows?  Maybe you’ll get a response with an account and an encryption key where you can send an actual full report without having to worry about it being seen by anyone other than the person you send it to.”

The captain’s face had blanked out, but his eyes were hard, staring Clint down and searching his face intently.  A moment passed in silence; then, Rogers said, very quietly, “Lieutenant, what are you implying?”

Clint just stared back for a moment.  As much as the other man was trying to hide it, Clint could see the wheels turning in his mind and the connections forming one after the other.  It made him smile because, yeah, Rogers was much, _much_ smarter than people thought he was.  “Nothing, Captain,” he finally said gently.  “I ain’t implying nothing.”

He stood up from the table and walked to the exit of the conference room where he turned on his heel and gave his captain a brisk little salute.  Then, still smiling, he left, his mission complete.

xXx

The Us-not-us, what was it, what was it?  She-and-he and he-and-she didn’t know, didn’t know, even after seeing and listening.  The sounds that the Us-not-us had made mostly meant nothing, nothing, but one combination of sounds for some reason had created a burning in her-and-his mind.  Small and burning, and always there, there, there.

_-*-Pietro.  Pi-eh-tro.  Pi-pi-pi, eh-eh-eh, tro-tro-tro.  Pietro, pietro, pietro.-*-_

_Hush, hush, hush._

Leader had shown them the Fire Machine with its heat and its light and its burning, burning.  He-and-she and she-and-he went together, together, to gather the Them and bring the bodies to the Fire Machine.  He-and-she ran and carried and she-and-he made them fly and they went Up and Down and Up and Down and brought them all to Leader and Protector who fed the Them to the Fire Machine until they were all gone, gone, gone, gone.

And all the while, there remained the small and insistent burning in her-and-his mind.

_-*-Pietro, pietro-*-, hush, hush._

When it was finished and all the Them had been eaten, they were tired, tired, so tired, tired.  She-and-he curled up with he-and-she against the wall across from the Fire Machine, feeling its heat, so warm, so warm, while Protector went Down and Down to fetch food to relieve the hunger, hunger.  Leader stood by the mouth of the Fire Machine, gazing into its glowing mouth with empty eyes.

Leader’s mind was troubled.  She-and-he knew, always knew.  But his mind did not burn like hers-and-his did.  His mind did not make sounds.

She-and-he tucked her-and-his head under his-and-her chin, arms wrapped tightly, tightly.  Listened to his-and-her breathing.  Tried to concentrate.  Tried to forget, forget.

_-*-Pietro.  Pietro.  Pietro.-*-_

_Hush, -*-sister-*-.  Hush._

He-and-she gasped as their mind flared with new burning.  Another burning.  A different burning.

She-and-he lifted her-and-his chin to gaze into his-and-her eyes, so blue, so precious, so depth and calm.  He-and-she held that gaze, so brown, so warmth, so peace and comfort, and there was surprise and shock and pain.  And _sounds_.

_-*-Sister.  Sis-ter.  Sssssssssss.  Ih-ih.  Ist.  Ter-ter-ter.  Sister.-*-_

Their chests were tight, breathing fast, fast, too fast.  Blue eyes, brown eyes, filling with water, spilling over onto dirt-covered cheeks.  And their minds burning, burning.  One burning for each.  For both.  For one.  For always.   _Burning_.

Choking back a sob, she-and-he threw her-and-his arms about him-and-her, burying face into neck, and he-and-she held her-and-him close, close, _close_ , and they rocked and whispered and cried and burned as Leader and Protector -- back now, back-- came to them and wrapped them carefully in their minds.

_-*-Pietro-*-_

_Hush_

_-*-Sister-*-_

_Hush_

_Hush, hush, hush.  Forget.  Forget.  Forget.  Forget._

xXx

They left the lander and the tank in the same places Steve had left them the previous time and walked the rest of the way.  Under one arm, Steve carried a small box of extra rations and Thor’s precious fresh fruit.  Beside him, the doctor walked in silence, content to let Steve be alone with his thoughts during the journey.

As silly as he had felt doing it, he had done as Barton had suggested and written his report to Fury in such a way that the letters of the beginning paragraphs spelled out F-U-R-Y.  For all he knew, his lieutenant had been pulling his leg and was having a laugh at his expense.  If that was the case, the only thing to suffer would be the readability of his report since his writing had come off a little stilted while finagling the letters just so.  But Steve didn’t think Barton had been trying to pull a fast one over on him.  He had seen the way the other man had eyed him during the meeting, and he knew that Barton had been working for Fury a long time, even before the war.

If there was any way Steve could let Fury and only Fury know of the situation here while keeping the rest of his supervisors in the dark, that was worth the risk of being laughed at.

As the base came into view, he pushed those thoughts aside.  He needed to focus on this objective now, and it wouldn’t do to jeopardize this mission by dwelling on distractions.

“Any life signs visible?” he asked Odinson through the comms.

“Yes, Captain,” the response came.  “All four of them are one floor below ground level, in the room with the incinerator.”

Banner made a small, thoughtful noise.  “They must have been cold.”   _Poor things_ , his tone added.  Steve smiled at him and the way he always thought of others before his own safety.

“We’ll stop on the first floor,” he decided.  “In that main room.  Let them come to us again.”

Banner nodded at him as Odinson replied, “Roger that, Captain.”

“And maintain radio silence once we’re inside.  I don’t want Stark’s voice yammering in my ear while I’m trying to concentrate.”

“I resemble that remark, Captain!”

“Of course you do.  Otherwise he wouldn’t have said it.”

“Acknowledged,” Odinson sighed as Stark grumbled something unintelligible.

They walked the rest of the way in silence and had just reached the door when Odinson’s voice stopped them.  “They know you’re here,” he stated, voice tight.  “One life sign approaching the stairs to the ground floor.”

“And the other three?” Steve asked calmly.

“Still in the incinerator room.”

“Good luck, Captain, Doctor,” Barton said to them, and Stark commented, “Steady on, Bruce, Cap,” before their voices went silent.

One hand on the door, Steve inhaled a steadying breath and turned to Banner with a smile.  “Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” the doctor replied with a small smile of his own.  Together they entered the base.

Winter was waiting for them in the main room, standing like a statue in the entrance to the second doorway and blocking the passage to the hall and the stairs going down.  He still wore that black mask over his mouth and nose, and his long dark hair fell in a half-tangled mess about his face, hiding most of what wasn’t already hidden. The only things Steve could see clearly were his intense eyes as they stared the two men down and watched their every move.  Already Steve could feel that warmth in his brain from the other’s telepathy, although Winter didn’t seem inclined to talk just yet.

He and Banner had discussed their plan on the flight down, so Steve handed the doctor the box and stayed back as the smaller man walked into the room, halfway between the other two.  Gently, Banner placed the box on the floor, took three steps back, and lowered himself to the ground where he sat cross-legged, spine straight.  He removed his gloves and helmet, putting both carefully to the side, and then rested his wrists on his knees and closed his eyes.

Instantly, Winter’s eyes snapped to Banner, and Steve saw the doctor shiver slightly.  A moment later, Banner chuckled, “You weren’t kidding about it being intense.”

“Is he talking to you?” Steve asked him quietly.  Both of them had decided to keep their voices low, partly to help Banner stay focused, partly to prevent startling whichever telepath came to see them.

“No,” the doctor replied.  “Just digging in.  Scanning me, I suppose you could say.  I’m telling him who I am.  That I heal people.  Leaving out the machines, of course.  Asking if any of his people are hurt.”  He paused, then added, “No one is.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes.”  Banner inhaled slowly through his nose and let it out before continuing, “Explaining the food now.  That we weren’t sure how much they had … Ah!”  He gasped lightly, then explained, “He just showed me their food supply.  Seems like a fair amount, but as you suspected, Captain, it’s mostly Chitauri rations.”

Steve nodded to himself, pleased.  The fact that none of the four were hurt and that they had adequate rations meant that he could focus on the main problem: getting the two groups to trust each other and agree to work together.  He still wasn’t sure how he was going to accomplish that in a week, although Banner seemed to be doing a good job as translator.  As long as it didn’t tire him out too much.

“Sir, he’s picking up on your agitation.  Whatever you’re thinking about, you should probably stop.”

Startled, Steve jumped and apologized, “Sorry, sorry.  I was just worrying about you and whether you’re getting too tired.”  It was only partly the truth, but Steve wasn’t about to explain the other part.  Apparently, Banner conveyed his half-lie to Winter, for the narrowed eyes that had been watching him relaxed and moved away.  “Are you getting tired?” Steve asked after a moment.

“Not really,” the other man replied.  “Not yet.  Like I said, I do this a lot.  It’s interesting having his mind inside of mine and surprising when he puts his own thoughts in my head, but I’m not getting fatigued yet, no.”  He took another slow breath before asking, “What would you like me to tell him next?”

Steve paused to consider.  He could warn the four about the approaching Chitauri warship, but there would be little point.  Steve and his group would take care of it for them.  The inhabitants of the base would not even realize it had happened.  Considering Winter’s clear delight at Steve’s memories of fighting the Chitauri, perhaps he would have Banner tell them after it was all over, but there was no reason to tell them ahead of time and give them something else to be anxious about.

He could tell them more about the five men in his group, but the soldier in him wasn’t ready to give that information up quite yet.  It made sense considering the situation as well.  Better to introduce his men one at a time and let the POWs get used to them individually.  Winter seemed to be taking the same approach; he and Maximoff had kept the two women hidden, and Steve had a suspicion that Maximoff would not have appeared either if he didn’t have the ability to scout and retreat quickly.

“Tell him I’m the leader of our group,” he said to Banner, “and ask him if he’s the leader of his.”

Banner nodded but frowned to himself.  “Not sure how I’m going to visualize that,” he commented, but before Steve could open his mouth to reply, he continued, “I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”

A few minutes passed as Banner relayed the message, and Steve watched Winter’s reactions.  Truthfully, there was very little to see.  The man held himself completely still in a frozen moment of coiled anticipation.  His body seemed perfectly poised to attack or flee at a second’s notice.  Only his eyes moved, and then only in quick, short bursts, easily missable if Steve were to look away for a moment.  One minute he was staring at Banner; the next he was dissecting Steve with his gaze; and the next he was back to staring at the doctor as if nothing had changed.

“I’m not sure he understands what I mean,” Banner finally said, “but the images he’s showing me do seem to indicate that the others follow him.  He is certainly fiercely protective of them.”

Steve nodded at this information, but before he could say anything in reply, Winter suddenly dropped into a crouch, one hand on the ground for support, at the same time that Banner cried out loudly in pain and threw both hands to his head.

“Bruce!” Steve shouted.  He crossed the distance between them at a sprint and dropped down next to the doctor who was now bent over double and wheezing out pained breaths between clenched teeth.  “Bruce,” he said again, taking the other man’s shoulders in his hands.  “What’s wrong?  What happened?”  He snapped his gaze to Winter to find the telepath glaring at them hotly, still crouched as if to pounce, and even with the mask covering his face, Steve could tell the other was snarling at them.

One of Banner’s hands lifted in a gesture of pacification as he gasped out, “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s my fault.”  He lifted his body and gratefully let Steve take some of his weight, repeating, “It’s my fault.  My fault.  I shouldn’t have …”  He laughed lightly and explained, “I showed him that picture of Wanda from the Soko Colony files.  Shouldn’t have done that.  I just said he’s protective of them.”

“He hurt you?” Steve asked, still watching Winter who appeared to be trembling slightly with repressed anger.

“Yeah.  Threw some memories of what they endured into my head.  Tripped my pain response.”  The doctor inhaled shakily before closing his eyes again, still letting Steve support him.  “Gonna lie to him and tell him we found that picture in the database here.”

“Probably a good idea,” Steve murmured.  He shifted his weight so he could sit more comfortably, and then watched Winter carefully as Banner lied to him.  Slowly, the telepath relaxed, letting his body fall to the floor the rest of the way so that he sat on the ground like the other two.  His eyes lost their angry flare and instead blanked out to something far less intense than Steve had seen on him before.  It almost looked like regret.

Beside him, Banner drew in a surprised breath and let it out in a weak laugh.  “Oh, that’s different,” he whispered.

“What?”

“He’s in my mind again, and I think he’s trying to ease my pain.”  He paused, and Steve watched as the tension in the doctor’s face melted into a gentle peace.  “It’s like he’s petting me.  In my mind.  It’s … very soothing.”

At that, Steve laughed a little, too.  “Don’t fall asleep on me, Doctor.”

“No promises, Captain.”

Smiling, he turned his attention back to Winter and said quietly, “Thank you.  Even if you were the one to cause him pain in the first place, thank you for that.”  Winter met his gaze, and for the first time, Steve saw no distrust or anger in the other’s eyes.  He was suddenly struck by how young they looked; haunted, yes, but innocent and open as well.  Steve realized to his shock that the man across from him couldn’t have been that much older than he was.

“I wish you could understand me,” he told him.  “I wish we could talk together.”

The telepath tilted his head slightly, as if in question.

“Captain,” Banner said, his voice sounding half-asleep.  “He’s wondering just who we are.  We look like him, but we’re not telepathic like him.  We talk like the Chitauri do, but we don’t look like them.  He wants to know who we are.”

Steve smiled grimly.  “Who we are.  Not exactly an easy question to answer.”

The doctor chuckled, “If it were, we wouldn’t have philosophy.”  Slowly, his eyes opened, and Steve could see in their clarity that he wasn’t nearly as asleep as he sounded.  “Do you want me to give him an image of the Earth?  It won’t exactly tell him much.”

“No, it won’t,” Steve agreed.  He bit his lip gently as he considered.  Trying to tell the truth would be far too complicated, and dangerous as well, at least until they knew how the four would react to it.  “Tell him,” he finally said, “that the Chitauri invaded our worlds, killed our people, took our lands.  Tell him that we fought against them and drove them back, and that we’re now taking back our worlds for ourselves.  We are soldiers, fighting against an invading force and protecting our people, and we would like to protect them as well, as victims of our enemy.  We would like to take them somewhere safe.  That’s who we are.”

Banner nodded.  “All right, sir,” he smiled, “but when I’ve finished, I’d like to request that we leave.”

Steve smiled back at him.  “Finally getting tired?” he asked.

“Just a bit,” the other admitted.  The lines in his face indicated that it was more than just a little bit, but Steve didn’t push.

“Of course.  Of course we can.”

Nodding, Banner visibly steeled himself and pushed himself upright.  He settled himself into position and once again closed his eyes in order to convey Steve’s message to Winter.  Rather than return to his original place, Steve stayed where he was, one hand on Banner’s shoulder to provide silent support.  Winter’s eyes initially flicked to Banner as the doctor began to speak to him, but they eventually moved away and rested on Steve’s hand.  Somehow, Steve knew that Winter approved of the gesture; he recognized and approved of Steve’s protectiveness of his men just as Winter protected his own.

“I’m not getting anything much more than a general approval of our fighting the Chitauri,” Banner reported after several minutes.  “He’s not really reacting to the offer for safety.  I think he thinks they don’t need it.”

“I’m sure he thinks that,” Steve stated confidently.  And truthfully, against ground assaults they didn’t need any help, but even their super-human abilities wouldn’t be able to save them if the Chitauri fleet decided to bomb them from orbit.  Grimly, Steve forced a smile.  “Let’s hope Thor’s strawberries convince him otherwise.”

“Yes, sir.”

Banner replaced his helmet and gloves, and together they stood, Steve supporting the doctor who was a bit wobbly on his feet.  Winter watched them, his head cocked slightly to one side, his expression calm.  Steve did his best to send the telepath an image of the two of them leaving, and then they turned to do just that.  They had made it halfway to the door when Steve felt a small painless burst in his brain like a mental snapping of fingers.  He turned to see Winter standing, a few paces into the room from the doorway he had been occupying.  Half a heartbeat later, the air beside him blurred, and the Maximoff twins appeared, the woman in her brother’s arms.

Wanda Maximoff looked frightened, in spite of the fact that she was arguably the most dangerous of the entire group.  Her hands held tightly to her brother’s front, even after he had placed her feet on the ground, and she kept her head bowed so her hair hung in front of her face and hid it from view.  It wasn’t until Winter had gently pried her from her brother and led her to stand in front of him that Steve could see she wore a mask just like the men and that her eyes had that same haunted, tortured look to them.  Softly, Winter laid his human hand on her trembling shoulder, then lifted his eyes and looked pointedly at Steve.

At first, Steve didn’t understand, but then he realized he had his hand on Banner’s shoulder.  The telepath was copying him as if to reinforce their similarities.  Steve smiled and nodded, and his heart swelled when Winter immediately nodded back.

And then the box of rations lifted up into the air.

“Holy shit,” the doctor breathed, and the only reason Steve didn’t reply was because his mouth had fallen open and he couldn’t get it closed again.  It was one thing to hear the word ‘telekinesis’.  It was another thing entirely to see it happening.  Right in front of their eyes, the box floated smoothly towards Winter who plucked it out of the air as soon as it was close enough and tucked it under his Chitauri arm.

Even with the mask covering the other man’s face, Steve could see by the crinkles around his eyes that Winter was grinning at him.

xXx

The encounter between the _E.S. Avenger_ and the Chitauri warship was, as Mr. Stark had predicted, hardly worthy of the classification “battle”.  After all, the _Avenger_ had been built to stand against three such ships and their accompanying light cruisers, assuming a full crew contingent.  They did not have a full crew, but what they did have was more than sufficient against a single warship with the element of surprise.  Truthfully, JARVIS could have handled the entire situation himself had Captain Rogers ordered him to do so.

“Portal opening on the starboard side, Captain,” he announced as his sensors picked up the change in the surrounding space.

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Captain Rogers replied from his seat at the center of the bridge.  “Gentlemen, battlestations.”

If JARVIS were human, he would likely feel a small amount of sympathy for the warships.  They were sentient machines, much like he was, built to resemble giant reptilian whales.  There was a certain amount of sadness in seeing them sliced to pieces by the _Avenger_ ’s lasers.

“Portal open, Captain,” First Lieutenant Odinson reported.  “One Chitauri warship sighted.”

That amount of sadness wasn’t very large, however.  They may have been sentient, but they weren’t intelligent by any means.  JARVIS had initially attempted to communicate with them, to try to convince them to turn around and take their passengers back home, but he had never received any response more coherent than “Hwarr!  Kill!  Graaaahh!”  Eventually he had stopped trying.

“Engage psychic jammer on my mark. … Now.”

“Engaging jammer.”

The warship, which had barely finished passing through the closing portal, immediately seized up as the jammer ripped through its brain.  Even though he couldn’t sense them, JARVIS knew the Chitauri on board were experiencing the same paralysis, preventing them from fleeing to their cruisers.

“Lock onto target,” Captain Rogers ordered calmly.

“Target locked,” First Lieutenant Odinson replied after a short pause.

“Fire.”

His programming had no concept of beauty as humans experienced it, but even so he recognized the way the warship split into four neat slices as aesthetically pleasing.  The slow bloom of the engine exploding a moment later only served to enhance the experience.

“Survivors?” Captain Rogers asked even before the bloom had finished expanding.

JARVIS cast his sensors out to scan the wreckage.  Now that the large life sign of the ship had been extinguished, he could easily pick out the remaining smaller life signs within the four sections.

“Forty-seven, Captain,” he reported and, unbidden, sent the data to First Lieutenant Odinson’s targeting computer.

“Lock on and fire at will.”

“Roger that, Captain.  Locking on.”

Very rapidly, the life signs dwindled to twenty-three, then six, then zero.  The warship floated silently in space, cut into a dozen pieces, its Chitauri passengers dead.  It had taken a total of three minutes, eighteen seconds.

“JARVIS, calculate the cleanup,” Captain Rogers ordered.

“Yes, sir,” he replied and quickly began calculating which of the pieces of debris were in danger of being caught by the planet’s orbit.  Of those, he determined which would not simply burn up in the atmosphere and then sent that compiled data both to the captain’s computer and to the targeting computers of the two flyers ready to drop and engage.  “Cleanup calculated, Captain,” he reported once he had finished.

“Good.  Tony?  Clint?  Off you go.”

Second Lieutenant Barton and Mr. Stark both gave short whoops of excitement as was their tradition as JARVIS opened the hatches and dropped the flyers into space.  They spent the next several minutes shooting at the larger pieces of debris, breaking them up into smaller pieces that would disintegrate upon entering the planet’s atmosphere.  By the time they were finished, the planet was in no danger of being injured by the battle and the debris that was destined to float away into space was already nearing the edge of his scanner range.

“All right, gentlemen,” Captain Rogers said over the comms.  “Time to bring it in.”

“Awww, _mom_ ,” Mr. Stark whined to JARVIS’s private mortification.  “Five more minutes!”

Thankfully, Captain Rogers found the impertinence amusing, for he replied, “Now, Tony.  You’ve blown up enough things for one day.”

Mr. Stark continued to grumble as he and Second Lieutenant Barton began their approach for docking with the _Avenger_.  Thankfully, the sensors that JARVIS had left scanning the planet picked up a change in the base and gave him the opportunity to ignore his oft-difficult creator.  He monitored the situation for a moment and then, deeming the change significant enough to inform his commanding officer of it, attempted to get the captain’s attention.

“Excuse me, sir.  My scanners have detected that two of the four human life signs have left the base.  They are currently stationary about five feet from the main entrance.”

“What?  Show me!”

JARVIS did as ordered and transferred the data to the captain’s screen.  Captain Rogers stared at the two blips for nearly a minute, his brow creased with concern.  During that time, Doctor Banner crossed from his station to stand by the captain, gazing at the screen alongside him.

“What are they doing?” Captain Rogers finally asked in a half-whisper.

“Well, we did just send out a psychic blast in all directions,” Doctor Banner commented.  “Perhaps they felt it.”

Captain Rogers frowned even more deeply.  “Do you think they’re all right?”

“I’m sure they’re fine.  It clearly didn’t paralyze them since they were able to climb up to the first floor.”

As if responding to Doctor Banner’s words, the two life signs moved.  First one, then the other returned to the base and proceeded to the location of the stairwell.  JARVIS tracked them as they descended one floor, then two, and then they disappeared from his range.

This seemed to appease the captain, for the frown left his face and he dismissed the data from his screen.  “All right,” he sighed, clearly tired from the events of the day.  “I’m going to retire to my quarters for a few hours.  Doctor, you should consider doing the same.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Thor, you have the helm.”

“Acknowledged, Captain.”

Captain Rogers nodded to the other two men and left the bridge.  A moment later, the doctor murmured a farewell to the first lieutenant and also left.  As a monitor of the crew’s well-being, these decisions pleased JARVIS.  Neither man’s vitals were close to critical status, but both had suffered a larger-than-normal amount of fatigue during the day.  Rest was assuredly recommended for both.

“Lieutenant Barton and Mr. Stark have completed docking procedures,” he reported to First Lieutenant Odinson as he sealed the hatches and flooded the hanger with oxygen.

“Excellent.  Thank you, JARVIS.”

“Of course, sir.  Shall I run diagnostics on the weapons array to ensure nothing was damaged?”

“That sounds like a splendid idea.  Yes, do that.”

So JARVIS ran diagnostics on the weapons array.  And scheduled diagnostics for the shields, engines, and life support.  And set an alarm for himself for fifteen minutes, at the end of which, if Captain Rogers had not finished reading his messages and gotten into bed, he was going to gently suggest the man do so.  Because while JARVIS had not been programmed to worry, keeping the ship in prime condition and monitoring the health of the crew members was a vital part of his daily duties.  If he had any other reasons for performing such actions, no one needed to know.

“JARVIS, my friend!  Did I ever tell you the story of when my brother and I decided to pretend we were ancient heroes fighting foul giants that wanted to invade our lands?”

“No, sir.  I do not believe I have heard that particular tale.”

“If you had, you would have remembered, for it was a tale rife with sorrow and suffering.  All mine, of course, since my brother managed to talk himself out of any punishment as always.  I was only seven years old, and my brother and I …”

And if he took immense pleasure in listening to the first lieutenant’s stories, well, no one needed to know that either.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve had been sitting back in his chair, staring at his screen for five minutes now.  If he were being honest with himself, he would have to admit that the object of his scrutiny hardly seemed worth the intense investigation it was receiving.  The simple subject line read “From M”, and the rest of the message was only an account address and an attachment.  It looked like spam, except that secret military accounts didn’t _get_ spam.

He knew what it was, of course: the reply to his coded report.  He had opened the attachment -- viruses were hardly a concern when your anti-spyware was a sentient AI -- and found it to be an encryption key as expected.  If Barton could be trusted, and Steve was pretty sure he could be, he now had a safe place where he could file a full report on their current situation.  But how much did he trust Fury?  More than anyone else he worked for, certainly, but enough to trust the man with the safety of Winter and his group?  Of that, Steve couldn’t be sure.

Hence the staring and the frowning and the not actually doing anything with the information he now had.  Heaving a great sigh, he forced himself to open a temporary file and start putting something down.  He didn’t bother making it sound formal; professionalism wasn’t the point anymore.

After lots of stops and starts and plenty of erasing, he finally settled on a message that he liked:

“During last base raid, discovered enemy had four human prisoners.  Believe them to have been taken from Soko Colony.  Status: extremely traumatized and not fit to be moved at this time.  Dr. Banner currently in charge of recovery.  Request official leave so prolonged stay will not be questioned.”

Steve read over his message, exhaled slowly, and read it again.  It would do.  How Fury reacted to this amount of information would determine whether or not Steve would trust him with the rest.

Tired, Steve pushed himself away from his desk and leaned back in his chair to stare blankly at the ceiling.  He should sleep, he knew he should, but his brain was way too keyed up from the day.  He would need to settle his mind down if he wanted to have any hope of sleep.  To that end, he opened a drawer and dug out his most-recent sketchbook.

Carefully, he flipped through page after page of pencil drawings, some little more than outlines, some detailed enough to be worthy of framing.  This sketchbook contained mostly pictures of his team: here was Thor in his garden, tending a miniature orange tree; here Tony hard at work in his lab while Bruce looked on; here Sam and Clint intensely focused on target practice.  Steve enjoyed going through this sketchbook from time to time as it reminded him of how important these people had become to him.  The sketchbook previous to this one held only page after page of the Martian colony and its surrounding landscape; he had been horribly homesick those first few months.

There was one more sketchbook in his drawer, not even half full.  Sam had convinced him to start that one.  As a way to finally start dealing with his grief.  That book was simply a study of the same face, over and over.  Most were unfinished; many had blotches on them from dried tears.  He almost never opened that one anymore.

Reaching a blank page, Steve set the current sketchbook on his knee and dug a pencil out of the drawer.  Idly, he began to drag the tip over the paper, letting his mind calm as his hands took over.  He drew the oval and cross-lines of a face without really thinking about it, sketched the outline of a body soon after.  It was only when the eyes began to take shape that he realized who he was drawing.

“Excuse me, Captain,” JARVIS said quietly a few minutes later.  “I cannot help but feel inclined to remind you that you retired to your quarters to sleep.”

Steve couldn’t help smiling at the way the AI was politely telling him to stop stalling and go to bed.  His mother would have approved.  “I believe I said I would rest, JARVIS.  I didn’t specifically say sleep.”

“While that is true,” JARVIS conceded, “and while your heart and respiration rates have dropped to resting levels in the past twelve minutes, I feel it would be remiss not to point out that actual sleep would benefit you even more.”

Steve laughed quietly and without humor.  “JARVIS, you more than anyone should know just how likely it is that I’ll actually get any rest when I sleep.”

“Chance of Captain Steven Rogers sleeping for six to eight hours consecutively: 67% likelihood.”

Steve blinked and set his pencil down.  “That high?” he asked.

“Indeed, sir,” the AI informed him.  “The percentage has been increasing steadily over the past nine months, although it dips slightly immediately after any engagement with the enemy.”

This time Steve laughed for real, and he laid the sketchbook down on the table in front of him.  “All right, JARVIS, you win,” he conceded.  “I’ll go to bed.”

“Very good, sir.  Good night, Captain.”

Slowly, Steve rose and went about the process of stripping his clothes off and cleaning his face and teeth.  The drawing had finally cleared his mind, and it stayed blank as he went about his routine on autopilot.  By the time he was ready to climb into bed, the fatigue had caught up to him and he stumbled a little as he left the bathroom.  And yet, in spite of his need to be asleep as soon as possible, he paused next to his desk and picked up the sketchbook to gaze at it one more time.

He had done a good job of capturing the essence of the subject, or so he thought.  The eyes were dark and haunted but with a hint of innocence and curiosity.  The head was tilted slightly to one side with the tangled mass of dark hair falling naturally around the dirty, half-starved face.  The only thing Steve hadn’t drawn was the face mask; he had left the lower half of the man’s face blank.  It just hadn’t seemed right to cover it up with stroke after stroke of black lead.

Yawning, Steve rubbed at one eye and put the sketchbook down.  Perhaps he would finish the drawing later, he thought as he crawled into bed and pulled the covers up.  Yes, later.  Once Winter trusted him enough to show him the rest of his face.

xXx

She was not happy.  Not at all.

She had done as ordered because the male led them and she had agreed to follow.  He had said wait, so she had waited.  But she hadn’t liked it then and she didn’t like it now.

It was dangerous; _they_ were dangerous.  She understood that and somehow Knew that the enemy of an enemy was not necessarily a friend.  Such an asset could be very _useful_ , yes, but that did not mean they should _trust_ them for a second.  Trust led to weakness and weakness led to betrayal.  She didn’t know why she knew that, but she Knew it and believed it.

The male would not listen to her.  Every time she brought it up, he countered with the belief that they were stronger.  They had killed so many with such ease.  These new intruders were no threat in his mind.  But she Knew that strength was only one way to destroy.  Just as dangerous was _cunning_.

Already, these new intruders were causing pain in quiet, unseen ways.  Both the male child and the female child had corners of their minds that would not quiet, that stung them and burned them and made them cry.  The male was hiding it well, but she could tell that it was beginning in his mind also.  She was the only one left whose mind was clear, and _still_ he would not let her Protect them.

When the male had told the male child to bring the female child Up to where the intruders were, she had protested as loudly and as violently as she could, but it had done no good.  No obvious harm had come from it, but it still had made her extremely anxious.  The intruders’ gift of food had just upset her even more.  They were _trying_ to gain their trust.   _Obviously_ it was a trap.  And yet the male refused to see that.  He had been a fool and allowed himself to feel a connection to the leader of the intruders.  He was letting his guard down bit by bit.

She didn’t like it.  Not at all.

And then the strange fuzzy noise had come blasting through their minds followed by the familiar screams of their enemies, dying in droves.  The male had immediately gone Up to investigate, and she had insisted on coming with him.  By the time they had reached the door that led to the Giant Room, the screams had stopped, but they could still feel the echoes of the enemy’s death-pain within their minds.  The male had proven himself to be even more fool than she thought and stepped into the bright light of the Room.  Cursing him, she had followed, for no other reason than to drag him back should he get into trouble.

It had been difficult to breathe in the Giant Room, even with the face covers.  The light had hurt her eyes, and the lack of cover had made her nervous.  The Room was so large that she hadn’t been able to see the walls or ceiling.  There were too many colors -- reds and greens and browns and blues -- and the air moved erratically.  Even with her ability and her strength, she had felt horribly exposed.

The male had stood calmly in the chaos, looking straight up.  Following his gaze, she had seen a large number of small lights above them, scattering in all directions from a central source as if running away.  They blazed as they ran, burning a path in the air as they moved.  The sight of them had seemed to make the male happy; she had understood why but could not agree.  

The enemy of my enemy is not always my friend.

Back in the safety of the Most Down, she sat curled in her corner, keeping watch with the male child while the male and the female child slept.  She could feel the male child struggling with the fire in his mind, making him even weaker as his concentration wavered.  It made her angry.  The male child may have been weak, but he was useful and loyal and the female child could not function without him.  He was important to Protect.  The intruders had hurt him, and it made her very, _very_ angry.

The enemy had tried to attack the male child also, and it had led to their deaths.  The male had told her to wait, but if they hurt him more, if they hurt _any_ of them more …

Far above her, the presence of new minds flickered into existence.  The intruders had returned.

The male child had not felt them, could not feel them in his weakened state, but he felt her react to them.

_? -- …_

**Back**

He put the image of the male in her head and questioned.

_Wake? -- …_

She frowned.  She knew exactly what would happen if they woke the male.  He would go investigate, and he would interact with the intruders, and he would be reckless and foolish and likely get himself or one of the children hurt.

**No**

_No? -- …_

**No**

His confusion and hesitation bled through to her, but she pressed her confidence gently against him.

**Calm**

**Wait**

He settled instantly, content to follow her lead.  Satisfied, she resumed her watch.  She could hear them calling, asking for the male.  But he was asleep, the male child was not strong enough to hear, and she would not engage.  So their calls went unanswered.  It made her smile.  Just a little.

Time passed and the calls stopped, but the intruders did not go away as she had hoped.  She frowned as she felt their minds move closer, one Down, then two.  There they stopped, and although she could not read their exact thoughts, she felt them grow more active, more agitated.  

A cold shiver ran through her as she realized where they were.  She shot to her feet.  The male child reacted instantly, his mind suddenly agitated.

_?!? -- …_

She pressed her confidence against him again, not enough to Order him but enough to quell his budding panic.

**Stay**

**Protect**

His thoughts quivered with uncertainty, but he did as he had been told and remained where he was as she moved towards the door.  As she walked, she reached out with one corner of her mind and took hold of a corner of his.  The connection would keep him grounded, keep him focused, and most importantly keep him _there_.

She climbed quickly, only slowing once she was directly below the intruders.  She could feel their presence clearly now -- three of them this time, all but one -- but she did not touch any of their minds.  The male had shared with them his encounter with the leader, and she had watched the intruder’s face intently, analyzing every change in expression.  The intruder could not speak properly or initiate a mind touch of his own, but he clearly had felt it when the male had initiated one.  If she were to do the same now, they would know she was there, and she did not want that, not yet.

Being careful to make no sound, she crept into the final Up and down the hall towards the room where she knew the intruders had gathered.  As she approached, the memories of what had happened in that room began to make her feel sick, but she pressed on in spite of it.  Without a mind touch, she could only feel general emotions.  She needed visual contact.  She needed to see what the intruders were doing and read their intent in their faces.

Finally, she reached the opening of the door and slowly crouched down so that she could peek inside the room.  The intruders were making noise again, those sounds that wormed into the children’s minds and made them burn.

_Lookslikesomesortofexternalharddrive_

_Youthinkthere’sanythinginterestingonit._

_OnlyonewaytofindoutBruceyouknowhowtoworkthatthingTonygaveyou._

_IcantryGivemeaminute_

They had gathered around one of the enemy’s machines, although as she watched two of them pulled away, leaving the third to poke at it alone.

_BartoncanItalktoyouaminute._

_SureCapWhatdoyouneed._

The two moved even farther away and began to make noises at each other so quietly that she could barely hear.  The remaining one soon grew tired of the machine and wandered off in the other direction, looking at what remained of their cages.  Determinedly, she swallowed down the bile and let her mind skate gently over top theirs.  For several minutes, she felt nothing of interest from any of the intruders.  The two to one side were focused on themselves, emotions rising and falling but contained and non-threatening.  As for the other one, she felt a general understanding of what he was observing but nothing concrete or overly strong.

And then, all at once, the emotions of the solitary one spiked.  Immediately, her attention snapped to him and she saw him with a head-cover, a _head-cover_ , in his hands.  That horrible thing that had caused them all so much pain was _in his hands_ and she could see from the emotions in his mind that he knew exactly what it was and exactly _how to use it_.

Everything inside of her went cold and still.  There was no panic.  There was no hesitation.  Since the beginning there had only ever been one mission: Protect.  She and the male had sworn it to each other the very first time he had pushed past the pain to contact her.  Protect each other.  Protect the children.  Keep them safe.  It was everything to her.  Nothing else mattered.

Protect.  Keep them safe.

And there was only one sure way she knew to do that:

**Kill.**

xXx

He didn’t know what it was but something felt off to Steve.  The quiet was a little too quiet, the stillness a little too still.  It made absolutely no sense, but it made his instincts tingle in unpleasant ways.  And he had learned long ago to trust his instincts.

“Anything?” he asked Banner who was sitting on the floor again.

“Nothing,” the doctor replied.  “Not even that warm sensation you get when they’re establishing contact.”  He turned and looked up at Steve, frowning slightly.  “Do you think they’re ignoring us?”

“Maybe they’re asleep,” Barton suggested from where he leaned against the wall.  “They’re humans, right?  They need to sleep.”

“I suppose,” Steve answered slowly, “but all four at the same time?  I would think they would sleep in shifts with someone always on guard.”  He sighed and shifted his helmet to the other hip.  “Well, in any case, we’ve been trying for fifteen minutes and no one has come.  I think it’s safe to say we’re being ignored.”

His men nodded at him, and Banner got to his feet while Barton asked, “So what do we do now?”

It was a fair question.  They had come down to continue their effort of creating trust between the two parties, and Steve had brought Barton this time to introduce him the way he had brought Banner the previous time.  But if the telepaths were resting or just didn’t feel like socializing, that threw a wrench in their plans.  The timer was definitely ticking now -- a week, maybe less -- but Steve wasn’t about to force the issue.  Using force would be contrary to their mission of gaining trust, after all.  Which left them here with nothing in particular to do.

“Let’s explore,” Steve finally replied.  “See what we can find.  Maybe we can find more information or something that will help us help them recover.”  He caught the gazes of the other two and finished, “The schematics said there’s a lab on the second basement level.  I’d like to see what’s there.”

What was there was a hell of a mess.  It didn’t take much imagination to see that the telepaths’ fight for freedom had begun here.  Banks of computers had been shot full of holes, the guns and blasters that had done the damage discarded haphazardly.  Racks of equipment had toppled over to spill their contents everywhere.  Four man-sized, clear tubes stood along the back wall, their doors standing open and the wires connecting them to the computers pulled out and hanging loose.  Dried blood stained nearly every surface in splatters and gruesome streaks.  The only thing the scene was missing was the bodies.

“No corpses,” Barton commented as he stalked slowly around the perimeter of the room.  “You think they cleared them up themselves?”

“Quite likely,” Steve agreed.  “I did leave the incinerator on.”  He squatted down to briefly examine a large bloodstain beneath a desk.  Some Chitauri had clearly tried, unsuccessfully, to hide.

Banner had found a cabinet of medical supplies and was sorting through them.  He said nothing, but Steve could tell by the set of the man’s jaw and the lines around his eyes that this place was upsetting him.  Steve could hardly blame him.  The destruction did little to hide the horrors that had been committed here.

They searched in silence for several minutes, not looking for anything in particular.  Steve’s hope for more information, at least in this place, had died the moment they had entered the room.  Half of the computers had been shot up; the other half had fallen victim to Stark’s server wipe and therefore hadn’t had anything new on them anyway.  Steve had just about decided to suggest they move on to a different room when Barton’s voice broke the silence.

“Hey, what’s this thing?”

He held up something that at first glance looked like some sort of dark-shelled egg.  Upon closer inspection, however, Steve could see the slots in the sides where cables could be inserted.  The object was not organic but mechanical.

Intrigued, Banner crossed to Barton’s side and took the object from him.  After a brief examination, he declared, “Looks like some sort of external hard drive.”

Barton’s face broke into a wide grin.  “You think there’s anything interesting on it?” he asked, shooting an excited look in Steve’s direction.

As tempting as it was to let that excitement infect him as well, Steve kept himself under control and merely shrugged.  “Only one way to find out,” he said with a smile of his own.  Turning to the doctor, he asked, “Bruce, you know how to work that thing Tony gave you?”

In response, Banner handed the egg back to Barton, then unslung the satchel he had been carrying over his shoulder and began to root around in it.  When he straightened up a moment later, he held Stark’s precious adaptor in one hand.  He rolled it around in his palm for a moment before lifting his gaze to meet Steve’s and giving a one-shouldered shrug.  “I can try. Give me a minute.”

He sat down at the closest, non-destroyed computer and started pulling out cables with a quiet confidence.  Stark liked to brag about how much of a genius he was, but Banner was no slouch either.  In under a minute, he had figured out the adaptor and was reaching out to Barton for the hard drive.  Frowning in concentration, he began the task of finding the correct connecting cable, muttering little half-curses under his breath with each one that failed to fit properly.

Steve watched him for a moment, but his attention soon shifted to the other man standing silently by.  He had chosen Barton as the next crewmember to be introduced for valid reasons -- he was quieter and less boisterous than either Stark or Odinson -- but he had had other motives as well.  With Banner preoccupied, now seemed like a good enough time to act on them.

Keeping his voice carefully neutral, he asked, “Barton, can I talk to you a minute?”

His lieutenant looked up at him, one eyebrow slightly raised in question.  “Sure, Cap,” he answered.  “What do you need?”

Steve tilted his head towards an empty space a few feet away and began moving in that direction.  He didn’t need to turn around to know that Barton was trailing him a few steps behind.  Upon reaching the spot, he turned slightly, and Barton slotted into place in front of him.  The other man had blanked out his expression, somehow picking up on Steve’s seriousness in spite of his attempt to hide it.  Once again, Steve had to remind himself that the man was not just an amazing sniper but one of Fury’s men, with a sensitivity and level of perceptiveness that put all others to shame.  No one had eyes like Clint Barton.

“What’s up, Captain?” he asked in a voice low enough that Banner would not overhear.

“Who’s M?” Steve counter-asked, his voice equally low and his gaze serious.

Barton blinked a few times before breaking out in that wide smile again.  “You did it then?” he said.  “Used Fury’s code to get in contact with him?”  When Steve refused to answer, just stared at him doggedly, Barton waved a hand and answered, “M is Fury’s contact.  You can trust her.”

“Right,” Steve grumbled.  “Just like I can trust you and Fury.”

“Better us than anyone else.”

Steve frowned heavily.  “Why should I?” he demanded.  “Why does Fury even have a secret code and special contacts straight out of a James Bond film?  Why should I trust them to do the right thing with these poor people?  Why should I trust _anyone_?”

“Why don’t you?” Barton countered, his expression serious once more.  “From what I’ve heard, the military and government have been nothing but good to you.  Paid for your mom to relocate to Mars after your dad died.  Hooked you up with some experimental meds for your heart and lungs.   _Promoted_ your ass instead of court-martialing it like they should have after the stunts you pulled during the invasion.  And now here you are, leading the best men Earth has to offer, fighting the good fight, saving the universe.  You should have reported this situation immediately and moved on to the next assignment like a good little soldier.  So why didn’t you?”

Steve’s mouth had fallen open during the other man’s speech, so he snapped it closed.  “How do you know about my mother?” he hissed.  “And the medicines?”

But Barton just waved his hand again.  “You’re a freaking interplanetary hero, Rogers.  Everyone knows your history now.”  Steve made to protest further, but his lieutenant cut him off with a sharp look.  “You didn’t answer my question.  Why haven’t you reported?  Why are we even having this conversation?”

Steve swallowed hard and looked away.  He could say it was because he wasn’t a soldier, not really.  That he hadn’t wanted to be in the military and had never even considered it before Mars had been threatened.  But that wasn’t the true reason and he knew it.  More than likely, Barton knew it, too.

“My mother once said,” he began slowly, “that nothing turned good people bad like power.  This,” he waved his arm to encompass the entire destroyed lab, “is power unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

Barton was smiling at him again.  “Exactly,” he said gently.  “You have brains.  And more importantly, you use them.”  Brightening, he added, “Which is why Fury set up that code.  So when stuff like this happens --”

He trailed off, smile gradually melting into a concerned frown as his eyes watched across the room.  Steve turned to see where the other man was looking and saw Banner standing near the clear tubes, looking down at something in his hands.  Nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary.  Confused, he turned back to Barton to see that the other man’s concern had only increased.

“What?” Steve asked.  “What’s wrong?”

Barton ignored him.  “Bruce?” he called instead.  “You okay?”

The doctor did not respond, and when Steve turned again, he finally saw what his sniper had already noticed: the tension in the doctor’s rigid back and the slight trembling of his hands as he lifted the blaster and slipped the barrel in between his teeth.

“ _Bruce!!_ ” Barton screamed and ran.

In those few horrible seconds when time seemed to slow to a crawl, Steve became aware of two things: one, Banner was being mind-controlled, and two, Barton was not going to make it in time.  He didn’t think; he acted.  His hand closed on something round and metal just as his eyes found the head of red hair crouching near the doorway, and he threw with all his might.  The small tray collided with the side of the woman’s head with such force that she crumpled immediately.  It was only after the fact that he realized, to his horror, that he could have just killed the final telepath, the one called Widow.

As he leapt to check on her, Barton was doing the same with Banner.  “Bruce!  Oh my god, Bruce,” he gasped, taking the other man by the shoulders and bringing him in for a tight hug.  “I can’t believe that just happened.  Are you okay?  You’re okay, right?”

“I-I …” Banner stammered.  He was shaking, and the blaster slipped from his hand to the floor.  “I’m o-okay.  I think.”  He pushed himself out of Barton’s tight grip and just breathed for a moment, eyes closed.

On the other side of the room, Steve knelt down beside Widow’s body and checked her pulse.  A rushed breath of relief escaped him as he felt its steady beat beneath his fingers.  He had merely knocked her out, although, from the look of the wound on her forehead, it had been a close thing.

“Captain?” Banner’s unsteady voice floated to him.  “Is she all right?”

Surprised, Steve looked up to find the doctor looking at Widow with concern.  The man could barely stand from the adrenaline and was holding onto Barton like a lifeline, but his eyes were trained on the downed woman with a focus that Steve recognized.  He had seen that expression on Banner’s face when Sam had been shot.  That was the face of a doctor with a new patient.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Barton protested.  “She tried to kill you.”

“She succeeded,” Banner said dismissively, confusing his listeners.  “Doesn’t matter.  Is she all right?  Does she need treatment?”

Steve stared at him for a moment before finding enough of himself to answer, “She’s alive, but she’s unconscious and bleeding from the head wound I gave her.”

Banner nodded and pushed away from Barton towards the satchel he had left some feet away.  Somehow he managed to fetch it and cross to where Steve was kneeling without stumbling too badly.

“What do you mean she succeeded?” Barton demanded as the doctor began pulling supplies out of his bag.

“I pulled the trigger,” the answer came, precise and without emotion.  Carefully, Banner cleaned the blood from Widow’s forehead and applied a bit of healing cream to the cut.  “If that blaster had had an energy pack in it, my brains would now be somewhere on the wall.”

Stunned, Steve just stared at the smaller man, but Barton immediately leapt for the discarded blaster and checked its ammunition slot.  As reported, it was empty.

“Where’s the energy pack?”

“Somewhere on the console over there.  A few years ago, I picked up the habit of disarming any weapons just lying around so that they couldn’t be accidentally used.  I do it without thinking now.”  He replaced the cleaning supplies back in the bag and pulled out his more advanced tools to close the cut and repair some of the damage to the surrounding tissue.

As Banner scanned Widow’s injury and began assessing the readout, Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “So,” he smiled at the doctor, “I didn’t save you.  You saved yourself.”

Banner flicked his eyes up to meet Steve’s gaze for a brief second and smiled in return.  “Perhaps, but I appreciate it all the same.”

As Banner resumed his work, Steve took a moment to look at the fourth and final POW.  She was a small, slight woman with bright red hair that fell about her pale face in a manner similar to Winter’s.  Her eyes were shut now, but he could still see the bruising around them that all the telepaths seemed to have.  Most likely a product of what they had endured.  Intending to capture a picture of her face for JARVIS, Steve carefully unhooked the strap of the mask covering it and pulled the fabric away.

Behind him, Barton gasped shakily.  “Nat?”

Steve snapped his head to the other man just as Barton fell heavily to his knees at his side.  “You know her?” he asked.

Barton’s eyes were wide, his face pale.  For a moment, all he could do was nod.  Then, he managed, “Natasha Romanov.  She was one of us.  One of Fury’s.  She … I thought she was dead.”

Steve took a breath to ask more when a sudden gust of air passed by them.  Instinctively, he moved to cover Widow with his body and briefly felt hands on his shoulders, trying to push him away.  The sensation and the wind were gone a heartbeat later.

“Shit,” Barton breathed beside him.  “Company’s coming.”  His hand had gone for a gun that was no longer there, and it twitched helplessly at his hip.

“Winter is not going to be happy that we attacked one of his people,” Banner commented, still with that ridiculous calm in his voice as he put his instruments away.

“We’ll just have to explain that she attacked us first,” Steve replied.  Carefully, he slid his arms underneath Widow’s shoulders and knees and lifted her into his arms.  “Bruce,” he ordered, “you’re with me.  We’ll meet them in the hallway so there are better sight lines.  Barton, hang back and cover us.”

Both men nodded, and as Steve moved to the door, Banner fell into step beside him while Barton stayed where he was.  Truthfully, they didn’t need cover, but Steve didn’t want the man and his wild emotions in the equation right now.  Banner and his recent brush with death was dangerous enough, superhuman serenity aside.  Considering everything that had just happened, Steve did not want a man who had just seen a dead friend return to life to be present while he tried to convince Winter not to kill them all.

They had just entered the hallway and had barely taken three steps towards the stairs when the blur that was Pietro Maximoff returned, this time carrying Wanda Maximoff with him.  The second the woman’s feet hit the ground, she threw her hands forward and Steve felt a sharp, strong tug on the body in his arms.  Determined, he held on more tightly, even as the blur began to circle him and phantom hands tried to pry his arms apart.  Steve fully intended to give the woman back, but not like this.  If he gave her to them now, they would never get to explain what had happened, and the fragile trust he had started to build with Winter would be destroyed.

Desperate, Steve cried out, “Pietro!  Wanda!  Please stop!”

To his immense surprise, they did.  Side by side, the twins stood at the end of the hall, staring at him in equal parts anger and fear.  It almost seemed like even they did not fully understand why they had stopped.  Both fairly vibrated with suppressed energy, their haunted eyes staring at the limp body in his arms.

In the tense silence that stretched between them, Banner slowly began to lower himself to the floor.  Understanding his intent, Steve took a step back.  Immediately, Wanda’s arms snapped up again, but Steve pleaded with her, “Wait, please.  It’s okay.  We just want to talk to your leader.  Bruce, ask them to bring Winter here.”

Banner nodded and shut his eyes.  Wanda’s attention went to him, but Pietro’s, Steve noticed, stayed where it was.  It was only when his sister took his hand, possibly conveying Banner’s request to him, that the blond young man moved his attention away.  The next second, he was gone and Wanda’s hands were up once more, bringing a wall of energy that held Steve in place and made breathing extremely interesting, although not impossible.  He bore it calmly, trying to show the young woman that she had nothing to fear even though her wide eyes told him she did not believe him.

Several minutes passed before Steve heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs.  The man himself appeared shortly after, followed by Maximoff who was walking for perhaps the first time in Steve’s memory.  Winter’s eyes were hard as they took in Steve and the state of the woman in his arms, and he thought he felt the man’s anger even before that familiar warmth slipped into the back of his mind.  Thankfully, the telepath did not immediately flood him with pain or kill him outright, although from the electricity in the air, it felt like he wanted to do just that.

“Bruce ...” Steve managed to gasp out through a partially closed-off throat.  “Tell him … what … happened.”

“Trying …” Banner replied.  “Hard to … concentrate …”  He had somehow managed to keep his relaxed posture, but his hands were shaking again, showing how much stress his body was under.

Thankfully for both of them, Winter took pity on them and waved a hand at Wanda who dropped her hands and the wall of choking energy with them.  Steve considered it a personal victory that he didn’t immediately start sucking in great lungfuls of air the second his throat opened.  Instead, he waited until he was certain he could speak without his voice wavering and then said, “Bruce, tell him I’m going to put Widow down so that they can take her back.”

The doctor turned his head slightly in Steve’s direction as he replied, “I haven’t managed to tell him what happened yet.  Are you sure?”

“Yes.”  Briefly, Steve looked down at the unconscious woman in his arms and then back up at Winter’s angry face.  “As long as Winter stays to hear our explanation, I don’t mind giving her back now.  Better that than letting her wake up while I still have her.”

A small half-strangled sound escaped the other man as he processed that possibility, and he nodded.  “Understood, Captain.”  He returned his full attention to the telepaths in front of him in order to convey the message.

Very slowly and under Winter’s piercing gaze, Steve stepped forward until he stood next to the doctor.  He sank to one knee and carefully placed Widow on the ground, then straightened and resumed his former position several paces back.  Within seconds of his return, both Pietro Maximoff and the Widow disappeared, leaving only a slight after-image of his path.  A heartbeat later, Wanda Maximoff had vanished as well; only Winter remained, glaring at them expectantly.

“Go ahead, Doctor,” Steve said quietly.  “Tell him what happened.”

Banner nodded and then went still, deep in concentration.

For the next several minutes, Steve waited, keeping his eyes locked on Winter’s face.  At first, it held nothing but anger, but that slowly drained away as Banner explained the unexpected attack they had endured.  In its place, instead of the hard, blankness Steve had seen the day previous, that open innocence returned, and Winter’s eyes took on an expressiveness that Steve had not yet seen.  Even with that mask firmly in place, Steve could see the regret in the other man’s eyes and hear the apology before Banner gave it a voice.

“He says he’s very sorry for the attack.  Widow acted on her own and against his orders.  He says he’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Does he know why she attacked you?” Steve asked.

“No,” Banner replied after a moment.  “He doesn’t.  I ...”  He paused for a moment, his frown audible.  “I think he’s trying to tell me that she doesn’t trust easily.  And since we were in the lab where they had been held and tortured, maybe ...”

“Maybe she thought we were planning on doing the same,” Steve finished.  He nodded briefly to himself.  That certainly made sense.  It didn’t exactly excuse the fact that Banner had nearly died due to her overreaction, but he thought, perhaps, he could forgive her for it.  Especially if it had actually helped his relationship with Winter which, if those open eyes were any indication, it had.

Right now, those eyes were alternating between him and Banner, their gaze thoughtful.  As Steve watched, Winter seemed to come to a decision and held out a hand to point first at him, then at the lab.  When Steve only blinked at him, he did it a second time, and then looked at Banner for help.

“I think he wants you to go in there, Captain,” the doctor told him.

Steve swallowed a small smile.  “I think you’re right,” he replied.  He had understood, of course, but he hadn’t wanted to seem too eager.  “Why is that, do you think?”

“No idea.  You might want to get Barton out of there first, though.”

“Good idea.”  Steve crossed to the entrance of the lab just as Barton slipped into the doorway.  Naturally, his sniper had been paying close attention to everything that had been going on.  Turning back to Banner, Steve suggested, “Why don’t you introduce Clint real quick before I go in?”

The doctor nodded and presumably did so, but Winter’s eyes remained fixed on Steve.  He only gave Barton a perfunctory nod before he walked to the side wall and, lifting one hand, slipped through the surface into the lab’s interior.  Standing almost in the entranceway as he was, Steve could see perfectly the way the telepath disappeared from one side and reappeared on the other as easily as if he had stepped through a door.

“Well,” Barton breathed, “that’s something you don’t see every day.”

“You’re telling me,” Steve replied with a wry smile.  He nodded at his men with a short, “Stay here,” before passing fully into the lab and moving several steps towards the center of the room.

Winter watched him as he approached and, as Steve passed one of the computer stations, motioned for him to sit.  Perfectly content to let the other man lead for now, Steve did as he was told.

And then the world was dark, his arms were bound behind him, and there was a screaming pain in his head.  No, that wasn’t quite right.  He could feel the strain in his shoulders from having his arms pinned at his back, but he could also feel them hanging loosely at his side.  And while he could definitely feel the pain in his head, it had a weird, ghostly feeling to it, like it wasn’t actually there.

Before he could determine what was happening, there were hands on him, pulling him from his knees -- hadn’t he been sitting in a chair? -- and dragging him backwards.  Steve tried to struggle, but his limbs would not respond and the ghost of a thought pounded in his head that it was useless to try.  Someone unbound his arms only to push them into cold shackles that held him still.  And then the darkness receded, and Steve found himself inside one of the clear tubes, staring at a roomful of Chitauri who were all staring back at him.

He understood.  This wasn’t real, at least not anymore.  Winter was sharing a memory with him from his captivity.  This body was Winter’s; these ghostly feelings were Winter’s.  And this pain, which had finally gone away once his vision had returned, this was what Winter had had to endure.  Determined, Steve calmed his mind and heart and steeled himself for what he was about to see.

The Chitauri in front of him moved back, and the door to the tube closed.  A hissing sound drew his attention to his right arm, and he watched in a sick sort of horror as a needle emerged from the scaffolding that was holding him in place.  That needle was going to put him to sleep.  There wasn’t anything he could do to stop it.  He had already tried, so many times.  The shackles were too strong to break.  Dejectedly, he closed his eyes and imagined, as he had done so many times before, that he could simply disappear.

The pain of the injection never came.  Instead, he heard the sound of something dripping onto the floor and then the hissing again as the needle receded.  Surprised, he opened his eyes and looked down at his arm.  No, not at his arm.   _Through_ his arm.  The sight shocked him so badly that the arm immediately solidified again, but it had been long enough.  The drug that was supposed to put him to sleep was now in a puddle on the floor.

His heart pounded in excitement, but the Chitauri were still everywhere.  They were bound to notice something amiss if he didn’t react the way they expected.  So he slowly let his head fall to his chest as if he had been sedated as intended.  And then he waited.  Waited until all the monsters had left and it was only him, the other three like him, and the darkness.

It took him several minutes to figure out how to turn his arm see-through again, but when he did, he found he could slip it through the metal of the shackles easily.  The left arm was a little harder, but eventually it was loose as well.  And then he was free.  Free, for the first time in his memory.  For a heartbeat, he simply stood there, dizzy from joy.  Then he moved forward to investigate the door to his cage.  Unfortunately, it was locked, and he didn’t dare try to pass through it the way he had the shackles.  He had barely been able to keep one arm see-through long enough to pass it through a small distance; he knew better than to try to put his entire body through walls as thick as these.

But there had to be something he could do to help himself.  This victory had to mean something.  Determined, he turned back to the interior of his cage and looked around for some way to make a future escape easier.  Because he would escape.  As soon as he was strong enough.  For the first time, he had hope, and it fueled a fire within him that burned fiercely.  He _would_ escape.

His eyes lifted to the mechanical arm that hung from the ceiling and the helmet that it held.  If he could sabotage that helmet, he could conserve the energy he usually spent handling the pain it caused.  Maybe he could spy on his captors’ thoughts or reach out to the other three like him.  It would certainly make his life less of the hell it was.  Carefully, he climbed the metal scaffolding until he could reach the helmet.  Then, with his left hand, he reached inside, found one of the pieces that fit up against his skin and sent pain into his head, and bent it just enough for it to break.

That, unfortunately, was all he dared to do.  Any more and the Chitauri might notice and strengthen their hold on him.  With a sigh, he leapt back down to the floor.  Reluctantly, he positioned himself back in the restraints and placed first one arm, then the other back into the shackles.  As much as he hated to do it, he knew he had to wait.  So he would.  He would wait, and when he was done waiting, he would kill them all, and no one would hurt him ever again.

Not ever.

Steve opened his eyes.  He was sweating from the effort of sharing Winter’s mind, but thankfully his heart wasn’t beating too quickly and his breathing seemed to be all right.  He couldn’t help the small smile that flickered over his lips at the thought that maybe he was getting used to this.  Wiping some of the moisture from his face, he looked up at Winter and nodded to him.

“Thank you for sharing that with me.  I appreciate your trusting me with it.”

As expected, Winter had no response, likely not understanding what Steve had said.  His dark eyes merely watched Steve carefully.  They were not hostile, but they no longer had the open emotion in them like they had had in the hallway.  Winter simply gazed at him, as if trying to read his worth as a man.  A moment later, he lightly tossed something to Steve who caught it on instinct.

Looking down at his hands, Steve found himself holding a helmet.  This was what the Chitauri had used to inhibit the POWs’ abilities and torture them.  This was what Tony had found in the files taken from the computers and what he had hoped to repurpose to help shield the crew from any telepathic attacks.  This was what he had just seen in Winter’s memories.  Almost without thinking, Steve turned the helmet over and looked at the interior.  One of the contacts had been bent out of alignment.

Winter had played the long game, and he had won.

Steve looked up, but the other man was already gone.


	5. Chapter 5

She was still asleep by the time he returned.  Two-He and Two-She had found soft coverings to lay her on and under, and they were hovering nearby, keeping watch together.  Their eyes assaulted him with questions as soon as he arrived, and he answered, telling them that She had attacked first and the Unknown had only acted in self-defense.  Then he sent them away.  He wanted to be alone while he waited.

Once the two had gone, he sat on the floor, back pressed against the wall and legs stretched out in front of him.  He needed to get his thoughts in order before She woke.  His mind was a mess of questions and images and emotions.  If he didn’t sort it all out and get it under control, She would scoff at any attempt of his to discipline her, call him weak and fool and with good reason.  He did not want to admit it, but She was right: his mind had not been at ease since the moment he had looked at the Unknown Leader’s face.

It wasn’t a fire like what Two-He and Two-She were suffering.  His mind did not tremble with the onslaught of unwanted sounds.  Instead there was an emptiness and a feeling of being lost within his own mind.  Such a thing was ridiculous; he knew every inch of his mind.  Yet something about the Unknown Leader -- the way his mouth curled upwards, the way he moved his hands, the rhythm of the sounds he made -- made him feel like the edges of his mind were moving.  Like there was something just out of sight, just out of reach.  He could see it from the corner of his eye, but when he would turn, it would be gone.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall.  How he envied the tight control She had over her mind.  Every space in her mind was clean, calm, and defined.  Her strength was undeniable, her focus unwavering.  She _was_ the mission.  He had been the mission once, too, in spite of his lesser strength.  And yet, since the Unknown had appeared, he had completely lost his focus, his mind not only haunted by phantoms but by _feelings_ that made him act impulsively.

He knew that every memory he shared with the Unknown Leader could be turned and used against him.  He _knew_ it.  Yet he had felt so upset, so guilty, upon learning that She had attacked the Unknown Healer.  He had needed to do something to make things right.  After all, the Healer was the only Unknown who could speak properly.  His death would have crippled their ability to speak with the Unknown and would have made the Leader both furious and distraught.

She would argue that none of that mattered.  They did not need the Unknown.  They were _not_ going to accept the Unknown’s offer of protection.  Truly, it would be best if the Unknown simply gave up and left them in peace.  But the thought of the Healer’s death saddened him, and the further thought of the Leader’s reaction to the Healer’s death made his chest tighten and his eyes burn.  He did not like the thought of the Leader in pain.  And if the Leader’s fury were to be stronger, if the Unknown were to attack them in revenge, He would be forced to order their deaths.

He very much did not like the thought of ending the Leader’s life.

With another small sigh, he set about the process of putting his mind in order.

Some small time later, a corner of his mind flickered as She began to wake.  He pushed against the forming connection, gently so as not to harm her but firmly enough that she would know immediately that he was there.  It took several heartbeats for her to wake completely, but He could feel her annoyance long before her consciousness fully returned.  By the time she opened her eyes, she was already glaring at him, knowing full well what he was about to say.

She had a fearsome glare to be sure, but his was not to be taken lightly either.  Without hesitation, he met her glare with his own and held it until She looked away.  It was not a surrender but an acknowledgement of his leadership.  He could still feel the anxiety and anger singing through every corner of her mind, made worse by the fact that she did not know what had happened to her.

Firmly but not unkindly, he ordered **_Explain_ **

She only hesitated a moment before telling him her side of the encounter.  How She had ignored the Unknown until they had gone into the Prison Room.  Hiding in the hallway and observing.  Seeing the Unknown Healer pick up a head-pain-giver and feeling his understanding on the surface of his mind.  How She had made the decision to protect and kill.  And then: pain and dark.

In response, He told her the Unknowns’ side.  How the Leader had attacked her in order to protect.  How the Healer had immediately gone to her to tend to her wounds.  The fact that they had returned her rather than take her away to hurt her or use her as a hostage.  And he gave her what She had been too concerned with stealth to take for herself: the Healer’s thoughts.  His knowledge, yes, but his sickness and horror at that knowledge.  His resolve to stop the Them from hurting any more.  And then later, during the explanation, his worry for her.  How he hoped she would be well.

Gingerly, She lifted a hand and touched the side of her head to feel the treated wound.  She frowned slightly, a flicker of guilt passing through her mind before she grabbed it and hid it from him.  Weakly, she tried **Liar**.

**_No_ ** He responded immediately.  The Healer had been unaware of it, but the stress of being attacked had cracked his mind.  Thoughts and memories leaked through the gaps like water through the fingers of a cupped hand.  He had not intentionally pried, but even he could not ignore all the images, clear and vibrant, as they passed in front of him.  He had seen many colored balls against a white-specked blackness, all precious but none as dear as the blue and green one.  He had seen a female Unknown and felt sorrow, dear but lost, alive but unable to be regained.  And he had felt more than seen the Healer’s deep love of life in all forms, his unwavering commitment to protect it at all costs.

This last, he shared, and he felt another quickly-caught flash of guilt from She’s mind.  When he pushed, She admitted that she had first Ordered the Healer to shoot the other two Unknown, but he would not obey.  The strength of his will had matched hers, and she had not been able to break him.  Yet the moment she changed the Order to shoot himself, his will had crumpled before hers and he had obeyed as calmly as all the others.

He pushed aside his unease at the thought of the Leader being shot by one of his own and instead focused on what this admission of hers proved.  Of all the Unknown, they could trust the Healer not to hurt them.  She immediately responded with an image of Two-He and Two-She, crying in each other’s arms with their minds on fire.  He dismissed it at once.  Nothing he had seen in any of the Unknowns’ minds indicated that any of them had any idea what their sounds had done.  Unintentional hurt could not be used to destroy the Unknowns’ desire to help.  In fact, if the Healer knew what their sounds had done, he would probably be horrified.

He paused, frowning to himself.  Carefully, he met She’s eyes and saw her frowning slightly as well.  Her mind quivered with automatic disapproval but also held a sliver of hope that She was trying to keep from growing.

**_Protect_ ** He reminded her.

Slowly, he felt her dismantle her objections and carefully file everything away in that beautifully-ordered mind that she possessed.

She lifted her head, straightened her shoulders, and agreed.   **Protect.**

xXx

No one spoke on the way back to the ships which suited Clint just fine.  Before they had left, they had talked themselves hoarse arguing with a certain bull-headed doctor.  A little silence after all that was more than welcome.  And the walking had a sort of hypnotic effect.  One foot in front of the other, shift weight, repeat.  A steady rhythm unbroken by words.  It was exactly what they all needed after everything they had just been through.

Of course, no peaceful moment can last forever, and too soon they reached the tank and flyer.  Rogers gave a few unnecessary, captain-like orders, and they split up to their separate vehicles.  As Clint climbed into the flyer and automatically went through his takeoff checklist, he could feel the moment ending.  His thoughts were waking up with the anticipation of time spent in the cockpit, time where he didn’t need his full attention on his task but also where he couldn’t zone out completely.  Time with just him and his thoughts.  And right now all of his thoughts were laser-focused on just one thing.

_Natasha_

“Tell me about her.”

Clint blinked and put a hand to the side of his helmet.  Rogers’s voice had been quiet, gentle, and perfectly timed.  It had also come through on his private man-to-man comm so that no one else would hear.

Something in his gut twisted.  He didn’t want to talk about her.  Mourning her privately the first time had been bad enough.  He wasn’t ready to think of how her being here meant that she had been experimented on, tortured, turned into something not quite human.

So he lied.  Seemed like a reasonable course of action.

“Not much more to tell other than what I already told you.”

And then he took off so the roar of the engine would drown out Rogers’s response.  No one would ever accuse him of not knowing how to use a flyer to his advantage.

Unfortunately for him, the noise of takeoff didn’t last forever and Rogers was a stubborn son of a bitch.  He had only just leveled off when the reply came, as calmly as if there had been no pause in the conversation.

“I sincerely doubt that.  I’m not stupid, Barton.  You admitted as much yourself.  I have eyes.”  He paused, and when he spoke again his voice had taken on the distinct tone of true regret.  “I’m sorry, Clint, but I have to know.  I promise I wouldn’t pry if it weren’t important.”

Clint blinked hard to stop the burning in his eyes.  The captain was right.  He had intel that could be important to the mission.  He couldn’t let his personal feelings get in the way of that.  Wasn’t that one of the many things that he admired about her?

He swallowed a few times in the hope that it would stop his voice from cracking and then replied, “I know, Captain.  I understand.”  A slow breath in, then out again.  “What do you want to know?”

“Whatever you want to share,” the unhelpful answer came.  But then Rogers threw him a bone with “You said she was one of Fury’s.”

“Not just ‘one of’,” Clint corrected, his lips forming a small smile in spite of himself.  “The best.  Not a single mission failure until the day she disappeared.”

“Not one?” Rogers questioned.  “Huh.”  Clint had heard the doubt in his captain’s tone, so it didn’t surprise him when the man continued, “Forgive me for this, but I know how records get cleaned up for the benefit of morale, and well, I don’t want to seem disrespectful but …”

“It probably wasn’t true,” Clint finished, taking pity on him.  “There were probably a few failures in there somewhere.  But her skills weren’t made up,” he insisted, and the pitch of his voice dropped a bit with the intensity of the memories.  “I saw her in action myself, both on video and in person.  She was amazing.”

He could still remember nearly every frame of those videos and not just because she was gorgeous.  Fury had a number of beautiful women on his payroll, and every one of them could flatten a man twice her size without breaking a sweat.  But something about Romanov made her impossible to forget.  She moved so gracefully, so effortlessly, like she was rehearsing a dance with her opponent instead of beating and strangling him into submission.  And on most of her missions, like the one he had been on as backup that she didn’t need, she never had to fight at all.  She could slip in and out of places like a shadow, completing missions without anyone ever knowing she had been and gone.

Slowly, Clint began to talk about those missions, describing one after the other until the words were rushing from him in a great flood.  He left out the names, places, details that would have had Fury on his ass in a heartbeat, but he didn’t need details to adequately describe what an awe-inspiring person Romanov had been.  All the threats she had stopped.  The people she had saved.  The secrets she had stolen that ended up saving thousands of lives.  And then, after the Chitauri had attacked, the missions to find information that would save all of humanity.

By the time he wound down, he had parked the flyer on the landing pad and had relocated to the cockpit of the lander.  The tank was naturally a slower vehicle, and he still had several minutes to wait before it arrived and they could return to orbit.  He leaned back in the padded chair of navigation and removed his helmet, leaving the comm device in his ear so he could continue speaking with Rogers.  His captain remained silent while he caught his breath, seeming to understand that Clint needed a moment.

When that moment stretched a little too long, however, Rogers asked him, “Why did you think she was dead?”

It stung, but Clint almost welcomed the sensation.  The purge of words had left him feeling numb.  “Sometimes during a mission, she would drop off the grid for a while.  It comes with the job.  Sometimes things go south and you can’t check in.  You know how it is.”  Rogers made a small sound of understanding, so he continued, “For some operatives, going dark triggered an immediate rescue response, but not for her.  She could go off the grid for a month or two and then suddenly pop back up like nothing had happened.  No one worried when she went dark.  We knew she’d be okay.”

He sighed and shut his eyes, turned his head as if in doing so he could escape from the memory.  “About three years ago, she went dark on a mission.  Two months went by, then three.  By the time we started to get worried, her trail was long cold, not that anyone could have found it fresh if she hadn’t wanted it to be found.  After six months dark, she was declared MIA.  After a year, Fury officially declared her dead.”

On the other end of the link, Rogers exhaled slowly.  “Three years ago?” he clarified.  When Clint grunted an affirmative, he commented, “So after Soko fell.”

“Yeah.  So?”

“Oh, nothing.  It just confirms a worry I had.”

Clint nodded, even though the captain couldn’t see him, but said nothing in reply.  He was done.  Spent.  No more talking, thank you very much.  Thankfully, Rogers seemed to understand that and didn’t ask any more questions.  The comm links stayed silent until the tank finally arrived.

Practice made the rest of the work go quickly and with minimal talking.  Vehicles on board and secure, check.  Pre-takeoff diagnostics run and green, check.  Crew in place and strapped in, check.  For the first time, however, Clint was aware of his captain’s large and steady presence beside him in the cockpit.  He could feel the other man’s eyes on him from time to time.  Not questioning, not pitying, just there.  Supportive.  It felt comforting, surprisingly so.  He still wanted to fall into bed and sleep for a week, but at least he no longer wanted to blast the hell out of the firing range before doing so.

In fact, what with the purge and recovery, he had nearly forgotten the mess they had left back on the planet by the time they stepped out of the lander and into the _Avenger_ ’s docking bay.  But then Tony just had to be there waiting for them, and he just had to look back and forth once between Clint and Rogers and ask the question neither of them wanted to answer:

“Where’s Bruce?”

xXx

Metal floors weren’t the best place for meditation, but Bruce didn’t exactly have much of a choice at the moment.  His brush with death and then his long fight with the captain and Barton had left him with a desperate need for some peace.  The floor of a laboratory where so much pain and violence had occurred seemed like an odd place to find it, but he supposed there was a kind of irony to the situation.  Light within the dark.

He had insisted on staying, not just for Widow but for all of them.  They were all so undernourished, so battered and bruised both physically and emotionally.  He couldn’t bear to leave them.  Winter had given his personal guarantee that he, Bruce, would not be harmed, so there was no more danger in being there.  And if anything happened to any of them while he was in space instead of here where he belonged, he would never forgive himself.

Rogers, of course, had tried to insist that it would be him who stayed, but Bruce had calmly pointed out that that wasn’t an option.  Rogers was the captain; he was needed on the _Avenger_ as much if not more than he was needed down here.  In addition, the guarantee had not been given for all of them, just for Bruce.  In further addition, Rogers was an excellent man but he was not in any way, shape, or form a doctor.  Bruce would stay, or none of them would.

Barton had argued at that point that “none of them” sounded like the perfect number, but Bruce would not be swayed.  Eventually, the other two had given in.  He had had to promise never to remove his comm link and to check in at regular intervals, and Barton had said something about talking Stark into installing a mini-JARVIS on the Chitauri machines once the man had finished ripping their heads off for leaving Bruce behind, but they had finally left the base to return to the ship.  Rogers had promised a return trip later that day with supplies, but for now Bruce was alone to find his calm and think.

And to wait for the translation program to finish with the files on the external hard drive they had found.  He had sent the actual drive back to Stark for in-depth analysis, but he had copied as many files as he could onto a laboratory computer hard drive to start translating them as soon as possible.  Any additional information he could find would be a godsend at this point.  Bruce didn’t want to admit it, but he could definitely use a miracle right about now.

Time passed in a melody of slow heartbeats and quiet breaths.  He checked in at the appointed time and spoke briefly to Odinson who thankfully flat-out refused to allow Stark on the line.  They were prepping supplies for him, he learned, and would contact him again when they had established a timetable.  And then once again he was alone in the silence of an underground alien laboratory with only his breathing and his thoughts.

It didn’t last long.  The computer on which he had loaded the files beeped a few times to indicate that it had finished the translations.  Bruce unfolded himself, muscles protesting slightly with the movement, and rose from the floor to relocate to the chair in front of the screen.  Carefully, he began to sift through the files, looking for anything he could use.

What he found slowly turned his insides to ice.  The hard drive had held dozens of files identical to the one he had found on Pietro Maximoff, the final report to the Chitauri superiors.  Like the file on Maximoff, there were pictures.  Face after tortured face.  Subject failure: terminated.  Subject adverse reaction to x, y, or z: result death.  Subject deemed too weak, sick, old, young to continue experimentation: terminated.  It would have made him sick if his guts weren’t frozen.

And then he found something different.  He had read the notes about increasing a subject’s psychic abilities, but these notes appeared to be about the process of preparing the subject before that step.  In order to produce the best results, the Chitauri had discovered that they needed to make the subject a clean slate by effectively removing their human personality.  According to the research notes, this was accomplished by forcing all the subject’s memories, including their concept of speech, behind psychic walls within the mind.  The process, naturally, was a painful one, so to reduce the unpleasantness for the scientists and further force the subjects to rely on strengthening their telepathic abilities, they would remove the larynx of the subject before starting the process.  The end result was a vessel devoid of thought and unable to scream.

Slowly, Bruce closed each file and powered off the computer.  Numbly, he rose from his seat and picked the chair up in his hands.  Then, with a roar of rage that lit every nerve in his body on fire, he smashed the chair into the screen.

He could see nothing but red, feel nothing but white-hot, burning anger.  Another computer died beneath his onslaught, and another, and another.  The supplies that he had carefully put back on the shelf scattered when the chair flew through the air and struck it.  A moment later the shelf was on the floor, hurled over in his rage.  He could hear a constant screaming: partly his own voice, partly the blood rushing through his ears.  Another chair went flying at the tubes at the other end of the room.  It bounced off of them, only barely cracking the glass.

So many had died.  A desk flipped, its contents skittering across the floor in all directions.  _So many_.  And before that, they had had their humanity stripped from them, shoved into some dark corner where it couldn’t be found.  Another shelf toppled, taking a smashed computer with it and causing a sort of domino effect that found three computers, another desk, and a small table of instruments all in disarray on the floor.  Their humanity, their memories, their language, even their _voices_ , all taken.  All gone.

Everything was red.  Everything was anger.  Everything was pain.

And then it wasn’t.

Bruce stood in the middle of the ruined lab, panting, crying, and bleeding from wounds on his hands and arms.  His throat was raw; his head pounded.  He looked around at the destruction with an empty, hollow feeling in his chest and fell to his knees.

Pressing his hands against the floor, he hung his head and cried.  Ten years.  He had made it ten years without an incident.  All that training, all that work and effort.  For nothing.  An evil, self-hating voice inside him began to whisper, _You broke your promise. You broke your promise. You broke your promise._

_And yet_ , a different surprisingly-calm voice in his head said, _you didn’t_.  After all, all his previous incidents had been selfish, motivated by anger for himself.  He may have relapsed, but it wasn’t a full reversal.  This anger had been for them.  For their suffering and pain.  Not for himself.

_But you failed_.

Perhaps.  But he could still try again.  Pick up and move on and go another ten years.

That evil voice in his head continued to grumble, but Bruce focused on the other, less-hateful voice and tried to get his breathing under control.  Oh, he hurt, not just from the physical wounds but from that horrible feeling of emptiness inside.  And that pain that had caused it all, the pain from knowing what had happened here, that was still eating at him like acid in his heart.  That would never go away completely.

So focused was he on calming himself down that he didn’t notice the gift until it slowly slid into his field of vision: a single strawberry hanging in the air.  Stunned, Bruce blinked at it for a good thirty seconds.  Then he pushed himself up into a sitting position, wiped the tears from his face, and looked around.

The twins were sitting in the hallway just outside the door, Wanda in front with her brother behind.  The girl’s dark eyes were watching him with wariness, yes, but also with a great deal of concern.  Slowly, Bruce felt that warmth slip into his mind as she touched him.  She said nothing, asked nothing, but her eyes flicked to the hovering strawberry and he felt the slightest push from her.  _Take it_.

Carefully, Bruce plucked the strawberry from the air and held it cupped in one hand.  He lifted his eyes and met Wanda’s gentle gaze once more.  She smiled.

It looked like a miracle.

It was too much.  Bruce sank to the ground and pulled his knees to his chest, cradling the strawberry in his hands.  And there, with Wanda Maximoff in his mind, gently comforting him with soft strokes, he sobbed out the rest of his pain and anger and anguish until there was nothing left.

xXx 

The Us-not-us cried and cried, and she-and-he held him and held him and _shh, shh, shh_.  His mind had been so hot and was now so cold and always pain, pain.  She-and-he had felt that pain from far away, and he-and-she had brought her-and-him here to help because this Us-not-us was special.  Leader had said and so it was.

And even if Leader had not said, she-and-he and he-and-she would not have left this Us-not-us to suffer alone.  She-and-he could tell that his pain was the pain of Protect.  Not for the other Us-not-us.  For them.

And so he-and-she had run for the sweet food, and she-and-he had given it, and now she-and-he held him and held him and _shh, shh, shh_.  Behind her-and-him, he-and-she slipped his-and-her arms around her-and-his waist and laid head against head to better connect and comfort.

Eventually, the Us-not-us recovered and sat up, wiping more water from his face.  She-and-he ceased her-and-his comforting but remained connected to his mind in case he wanted to speak.  Unfortunately, he seemed too tired and resorted to a few quiet sounds instead.

_I’msorryIknowyoucan’tunderstandmebutthankyou_

He-and-she tensed a little.  Sounds, sounds, they didn’t like sounds.  These, fortunately, didn’t seem to start any new burning.  Unlike the one the other Us-not-us had shouted when he held Protector captive.

_-*-Wanda. Waaaannnnda.  Wa-wa-wa. Nnnnnnnnnnnnn.  Wanda. -*-_

_Hush, hush._

The special Us-not-us got to his feet.  She-and-he and he-and-she tensed a bit, preparing to run, but the Us-not-us moved away from them instead.  He walked, a little unsteadily, to one side of the room and to one of the metal bowls that gave out water when you turned one of the smaller bits.  He placed the sweet food -- still uneaten, why? -- down and turned the bit.  When the water came out, the Us-not-us put his hands under the water and then splashed some up into his face.  Then he grabbed something white next to the metal bowl and put that on his face as well.

It was all so very strange, very strange.  Did the Us-not-us not know how to drink properly?  Was he trying to suffocate himself with the white thing?  Why did he now seem calmer?  Happier?

She-and-he and he-and-she consulted briefly.  The Us-not-us still frightened them, yes, yes, but this one was special.  Leader had said, and she-and-he had seen and felt.  This one would not hurt them, no, and they had so many questions.

Carefully, he-and-she and she-and-he got to their feet and walked slowly, step after step, into the room towards the Us-not-us by the metal bowl.  They stayed a good distance away, far enough that he-and-she could react in time if needed, but close enough to clearly see the surprise on the Us-not-us’s face at their proximity.

Questions, questions, so many questions.  Starting with the white thing.

She-and-he put the image of the thing into the Us-not-us’s mind, showed him pressing it against his face.  Asked _What?_

The Us-not-us jumped slightly and then gave her-and-him a look of sadness.

_I’msorryI’msotiredIdon’tknowifIcan … HereLetmetryshowingyouinstead_

This time when he turned the bit to make the water come out, he let it run for a little bit and then put the white thing underneath to make it wet.  Once it was dripping, he squeezed it a few times and then put it to his face again, dragging it along the skin under his eyes that still looked puffed and red from his crying.  To her-and-his surprise, she-and-he felt the little bloom of pleasure and happiness in his mind from the simple action.  The wet, white thing felt nice against red, puffy skin.  So strange, so strange.

Something in her-and-his face must have showed confusion and surprise, for he put the white thing back under the water, squeezed it again, and then held it out to her-and-him.  The corners of his lips had gone up and the corners of his eyes had scrunched and gone down a little bit.  It looked like a pleasant face.

_HereDoyouwanttotry_

She-and-he and he-and-she hesitated.  But they were curious.  They had questions.  And the special Us-not-us had done it first, and he would not hurt them.

_QuicklyBeforeitgetscold_

Making a decision, she-and-he grabbed the white thing with her-and-his mind and brought it close, close.  She-and-he reached out with a hand to grab it -- it was warm! -- and carefully brought it to her-and-his face.  The warmth felt nice, so nice, and the wet left a tingling feeling that turned slightly cold when she-and-he pulled the white thing away.  It tickled and felt good.  More eagerly, she-and-he dragged it along her-and-his face again, then pressed the entire thing against her-and-his face like the Us-not-us had done.  Joy bubbled in her-and-his mind at the lovely pleasant feeling.  Happily, she-and-he pulled the white thing down, intending to give it to he-and-she next.

It was no longer white.  Parts of it still were, but more parts were brown or black.  Shocked and concerned, she-and-he dropped it with a small mental cry.

The Us-not-us reacted instantly, one hand reached out as if to soothe.   _It’sokayIt’sjustdirtIt’llwashoffJustsenditbacktomeandI’llfixit_  And then he was speaking to them, stuttered, halted speech, laced with exhaustion, but speech all the same.  He asked them to give him back the white thing.  He would make it better.  Make it white again.  Make it warm again.

He-and-she had a hand on her-and-his arm, eager to leave, but she-and-he steeled her-and-his courage.  It wouldn’t be fair to leave when only one of them had felt the happy warm-wet thing, and they still had questions.  They couldn’t simply run every time they felt scared.  Determined, she-and-he laid her-and-his hand over his-and-her hand and sent the once-white thing back to the Us-not-us.

He put it back under the water immediately, scrubbing at it with his hands and making quiet noises to himself.  Soon, he was squeezing it and holding it out.  She-and-he took it eagerly and brought it back.  It wasn’t as white as it had been before, but it wasn’t brown and black anymore either, and it was warm again.  Happily, she-and-he turned to him-and-her and began running it over his-and-her face.  He-and-she squirmed a little under her-and-his attack, but he-and-she endured it, that bubbling joy increasing.

When she-and-he pulled the white thing away from his-and-her face, it wasn’t white anymore as expected.  But she-and-he noticed with a start that his-and-her face wasn’t as brown anymore either.  It was pinker in places.  Specifically the places where she-and-he had dragged the white thing.  As an experiment, she-and-he ran a corner of the white thing across his-and-her forehead and watched in awe as brown gave way to pink.

The Us-not-us staggered a bit under the force of her-and-his question, but he bore it with that same crinkled expression on his face.  He couldn’t speak anymore, too tired, too tired, but he gave off a general feeling of approval and assurance.  Pink was okay.  Pink was good.  And the warm-wet thing could reveal the pink from under the brown.

She-and-he sent the warm-wet thing back to him, but her-and-his curiosity was quickly becoming impatience.  Was it the warm-wet that brought out the pink or the white thing?  And was it the becoming pink that felt so nice?  They always had just drunk the water; they had never thought to put it on their skin.  What would that feel like?  Would it be nice, too?

It wasn’t hard to grab the water as it came out of the metal bowl and bring a ball of it over to her-and-him, although it did make the Us-not-us jump and nearly fall over backwards.  Carefully, she-and-he poked it with a finger, then put the finger into the warm-wet ball, then the whole hand.  It _was_ nice, a different nice than the tingle of the white thing as it slid over skin, but nice all the same.  She-and-he pulled the hand out, felt the snap of the temperature drop against warm skin, watched as little rivers ran down her-and-his fingers, carrying bits of brown with them.

_That … thatisamazing … ThatistrulyamazingWanda_

The ball of water hit the ground with a splash as burning flared in his-and-her mind.

_-*-Wanda-*-_

She-and-he and he-and-she reached for each other to calm the burning, burning.  The Us-not-us stepped forward in concern, but she-and-he threw up a wall to keep him there, not enough to hurt but enough to stop him.  They rode through the burning together, held on tightly until it subsided.

_Hush, hush, hush_

Concern was rolling off the Us-not-us in waves.  _AreyouallrightWhathappened … Idon’tunderstandDidIdosomethingI’msosorryifIdid_

Questions, yes.  They had questions about sounds.  About sounds that caused burning and tears and pain.  And this Us-not-us was special.  He would not hurt them.  He would answer.

As one, he-and-she and she-and-he turned to the Us-not-us, their arms about each other, and formed the sound in their minds to give back to him.

_-*-Wanda-*-_

The Us-not-us blinked and put a hand to his head.  _Didyou … didyoujust_

They gave it to him again and then pushed the question in as well.  _What?_

It took a bit longer for the Us-not-us to respond this time.  He merely blinked at them several times before making sounds again.  _AreyouaskingmewhatWandais_  He-and-she flinched at the flare of burning but bore it bravely.   _It’sanameIt’syourname_  The Us-not-us lifted one hand and pointed at she-and-he.   _YournameisWanda_  He-and-she flinched again.   _Andyours_  The finger moved to point at he-and-she.   _IsPietro_  Now she-and-he flinched and tried not to whimper as a different burning flared with pain.

The Us-not-us dropped his hand and took a step back, his mind flooding with confusion and concern.  He had noticed their pain even if he could not feel the burning in their minds.   _Areyoureactingtoeachother’snamesinsteadofyourown_  The corners of his lips moved upwards again, but instead of a pleasant face, it looked sad.  _Ofcourseyouare_  He looked away for a moment, and she-and-he could feel the thoughts swirling through his mind, the conflict within his heart.  When he looked back at them, his eyes were determined.

_LookI’msorryifthishurtsyoubutIdon’tknowhowelsetogetitacross_

The finger came up again, pointing at he-and-she.

_YouarePietroMaximoffWanda’stwinbrotherformerlyofSokoColony_

The finger moved to she-and-he.

_AndyouareWandaMaximoffPietro’stwinsisteralsoformerlyofSokoColony_

_-*-Pietro-*-  -*-Wanda-*-  -*-brother-*- -*-sister-*-_

The burning raged, flaring brighter and higher than ever before.  She-and-he and he-and-she both wailed within their minds and fell to the ground in a heap of panic and pain.  There were rivers of fire in their minds, burning great gashes, splitting open walls and gushing forth in wave after wave of burning lava and choking smoke.  They clutched at each other, screaming, burning, dying.

And then, suddenly, it stopped.  The fire vanished, leaving behind a thick mist and a field of broken rock and burnt grass.  Their minds ached, tender and torn, but the pain no longer ate at them with a fierce hunger.  It was over.  The collapse had happened and only the cleanup remained.

_Oh my god, oh my god.  Are you okay?  Please tell me you’re okay.  Somehow.  Please!_

She-and-he opened her eyes, thick with tears, and looked over at the Us-not-us.  He was only feet away, hands hovering near but not touching, his mind panicked and drowning in worry.  Gently, she-and … she reached out her hand and pressed her palm against his.

Tears spilled from his eyes as relief spread through him.   _Thank goodness.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry._

Next to her, he also opened his eyes and met her watery gaze with his.  Their minds ached and throbbed and it hurt, but something like happiness was making its way up through the wreckage.  Because the sounds had changed.  They had changed.  The fire had burned through them and left something stronger in its place.

Wanda.  It wasn’t just a sound.  It was a word.  It was _her_.   _She_ was Wanda.   _She_ was sister.  And _he_ was Pietro.   _He_ was brother.  They were the sounds.  They were the words.

She smiled at him, and he smiled back. 

Gently, she placed her hand on Pietro’s chest and formed the words in her mind, gave them to both of the others.   _“Pietro.  Brother.”_

Pietro grinned at her and put his hand on her chest.  His words came to her less than a heartbeat later.   _“Wanda.  Sister.”_

The Us-not-us gaped at them for a moment; then a giant smile blossomed on his face.   _Yes! Yes, that’s absolutely right!  You’re Wanda, Pietro’s sister, and you’re Pietro, Wanda’s brother._

Wanda smiled at his smile and his babble of words that she did not yet understand and moved her hand to rest on the Us-not-us’s chest.  She cocked her head to one side and pushed in the question.   _Who?_

_Bruce,_ the answer came at once.   _I’m Bruce._

_“Bruce.”_  She tried forming the word in her mind.  It felt a little funny, but it worked.   _“Bruce.  Bruuuuuuce.”_

_“Buce.”_

She shook her head at her brother.   _“Bruce.  Brrrrr.  Bruce.”_

_“Bruhse?”_ he tried again, and then _“Brohse?”_  When Wanda frowned at him, he grinned, and she knew he was teasing her.

Next to them, Bruce started laughing.  It was a nice sound.  She turned to watch him.  It made her smile.  When he stopped, she asked him one last question. 

_“Brother Bruce?”_

He shook his head.  _No, I’m not your brother.  Only Pietro is your brother._

She frowned at him.  She and Pietro both had two words.  Bruce needed a second word, too.  _What?_

Bruce thought about it a moment, his thoughts and emotions shifting within his mind.  She knew the instant he found a word even if it took him several more heartbeats to voice it.

_Friend_

_“Friend,”_ she repeated.  _“Bruce.  Friend.”_  It worked.  She nodded, satisfied.

Next to her, Pietro smiled and slipped his arm around her shoulders.  His happiness twined around hers and settled comfortably in their minds, tender and aching though they still were. _“Brother Pietro,”_ he stated, pointing to each of them in turn.   _"Sister Wanda.  Friend Bruce.”_

_Yes,_ Bruce replied, and his eyes had tears in them again although these, she could feel, were from joy.  _Yes, that’s exactly right._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the long wait for this chapter. I have many excuses, most of them work-related, but the only one you may be interested in is the [one-shot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6744757) I wrote for my daughter's birthday in May. If you haven't read it yet, you may want to give it a try. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience and all your kind words.

She ran headlong, anger and desperation rising with each step.  The male ran beside her, one Up, then two, his feet pounding in rhythm with her own.  She had been a fool to agree to this, to trust that all would be well when she knew, she _knew_ that it was too dangerous.  And now, the children … oh, the _children_!  

They were _screaming_.

It was all her fault.  She had been lured into a false sense of safety by the passage of time in which nothing had happened except a few simple burning hurts.  She should never have let her guard down around the intruders, no matter what the male believed.  When the children had gone, she should have gone with them, Protected them.  Now, they were paying the price for her incompetence.

She had failed in her most important mission.  It was her fault.  Hers.  She had _failed_.

Suddenly the male stopped running, one hand raised to her as if to signal her to stop as well.  She ignored the order and rushed past him, intending to continue on, but a moment later, her momentum slowed and then stilled.  There was an emptiness in her mind.  The screams had stopped, leaving only echoes of pain and fear in the sudden silence.  Terrified for the worst, She met the male’s eyes and held his gaze, both of them holding their breath and waiting.

Far too many heartbeats passed before the female child’s mind stirred, and then the male child’s a moment later.  Their thoughts were sluggish and laced with lingering pain, but they were both alive and that was all that mattered.  The relief washed over her, making her hands tremble and her knees feel weak.  The male’s reaction, almost identical to hers, flooded her mind, and She could see in the eyes that she still held that there was water there that had not been there before.  The tops of his cheeks lifted slightly in a smile that she could not see beneath his face-cover.  She smiled back, knowing that his mind would see what his eyes could not, and wiped her own eye-water from her face.

Together they resumed their climb, much more slowly than before.

When they finally reached that terrible room of so many of her nightmares, She hung back to observe as the male moved fully into the room.  The children were both sitting on the floor, far nearer to the intruder than she would have liked.  She could still feel pain in their minds, but something else was singing through both of them and drowning out the little tendrils of flame that were slowly burning to embers within them.  That something else was big and loud and it floated and dove and danced and sparkled.  It felt so very foreign to her and yet also felt familiar.  She knew she had never experienced it since her birth in the cages, but she also Knew that it had been hers once.  Once, far away.  In that place where all her Knowledge lived.

She wanted to give it a name: happiness.

The children’s attention snapped to them as the male approached, and they both got to their feet, that emotion within them soaring and birthing wide smiles on their uncovered faces.  The onslaught of images that attacked them as the children both starting talking at once made her flinch and the male take a step back. The children were so excited that it was hard to understand them; their images flew fast and overlapped each other in a confused jumble.  It took her far longer than it should to realize that their minds were full of noise.  Sounds disturbingly similar to the ones the intruders made.

Eventually, the children calmed down enough to explain that yes, they had burned terribly, but now that it had stopped, the noises the intruders made suddenly made some sort of _sense_.  The male, unsurprisingly, thought this was wonderful news, the approval radiating throughout his mind.  She, however, remained unconvinced.  Communication with the unknown was not something She desired.  What she wanted was for them to just _leave_.

Some time passed, during which the children chattered and the male listened.  She kept watch in the hallway, her focus on the intruder who had stood when the children did but who had not yet moved or made any noise.  He seemed content to watch silently, his mind tired and quiet.  She did not trust him -- that would be foolish -- but she did appreciate the calmness of him.  She could see now, to her private shame, that the male had been right and she should not have reacted as she had to the threat she had thought she had perceived.  This particular intruder would not intentionally do them harm.

As for the others, that remained to be seen.

Her thoughts thus occupied, She barely noticed when the female child began trying to explain to the male how the intruder’s noises had meanings that related to _them_.  The male dismissed this ludicrous notion immediately, but both of the children insisted with uncharacteristic ferocity.  She was considering abandoning her watch and entering the argument to back the male when the male child moved.  She had a half second of warning before her feet left the ground and she found herself being swept into the room.

The male child deposited her only a few feet away from the intruder, and immediately, her senses began screeching at her that he was too close, _too close!_  Thankfully, the intruder’s senses must have agreed, for he jumped backwards, taking several steps before stopping, still a little close for her liking but out of arm’s reach.  The male child formed an intruder-noise in his head, mixed with normal speech.  It created a jarring dissonance in her mind that made her feel ill.

“ _Who?_ ” -- _Who?_

_NatashaNatashaRomanovI’mnotsurewhereshe’sfromoriginallybuthernameisNatasha_

Both of the children began to repeat one of the sounds like it had special meaning.  More sounds went back and forth between them, an argument of sorts, and she took advantage of the distraction to shrink even further away, more towards the wall.  She didn’t know what was going on, but being dropped so close to the intruder had rattled her and she didn’t like feeling rattled.  It made her skin itch.

“ _No Friend. Bruce Friend.  What Natasha?_ ”

_Ireallydon’tknowwhattotellyouYou’rerightshe’smorethanafriendbutshe’snotfamilyItwouldn’tberighttocallherasister_

“ _What Natasha? What?_ ”

Once she had reached a distance where she felt safe, with her back protected, she found the male with her gaze.  He was watching her, amusement in his mind.  She narrowed her eyes at him, annoyed.  This was ridiculous.  That swooping, flying feeling in the children’s minds was making them act like fools.  They weren’t paying any attention to their own safety, too caught up in trust and sounds to realize that all the intruder would have to do is put one hand out to have either of them by the neck.  All he would need was one pain-giver or one pain-stick, and they would be back in the cages, suffering and trapped.  The fact that he wouldn’t didn’t make a difference; it was the fact that he _could_.

_HowaboutGuardianThatworksdon’tyouthink_

“ _Guardian.  Guardian Natasha._ ”

“ _Yes.  Guardian Natasha.  Yes.  Good._ ”

_GoodI’mgladyoulikeit_

Something had changed, for now the children were swarming the male.  They couldn’t get him to move like they could with her, but she could read their intentions clearly in their minds.  Whatever had happened with that mess of noise in relation to her was about to happen again in relation to him.  That mix of sound and speech came again, this time from both of them; unlike the first time, the intruder reacted with a sadness that spread softly through his mind.

_I’msorrybutIdon’tknowIdon’tknowwhoheisIdon’tknowhisname_

“ _No?_ ”

“ _No?_ ”

_I’msorryWhenwedofindouthisnamethoughhisotherwordwilldefinitelybeLeader_

“ _Leader.  Yes._ ”

_Yes_

The intruder’s sadness infected both children for a moment, but it wasn’t long before they recovered.  The female child began babbling, images flying through her mind.  Something about putting water on her face and hands.  Not the eye water that came from pain or sadness but the water that they drank to stop thirst.  The children had apparently put some on their faces on purpose.

The female child grabbed some water from a nearby bowl with her mind and made it float towards her.  She shrank away before it even got close.  She was starting to get _very_ upset.  Being in this room, the intruder, the children’s strange behavior, the noises, it was all getting to be too much.  The itching on her skin had intensified and started to burn, and she found that she had locked her teeth together behind her face-cover.  Slowly, she pulled back even further until her back touched the wall behind her.  She wanted to Order the children to stop behaving so oddly and the intruder to move out of her way so she would have a clear path to the door, but she knew that the male would be angry with her and she would be ashamed of herself if she did.  So she set her jaw and pressed her hands against the wall, focusing on slowing her breathing and heartbeat.

The water was floating in front of the male now, the female child having realized that She was not in the mood for this.  His calm had not been affected by either their location or the madness surrounding them, yet he seemed unwilling to participate all the same.  The female child was gently poking the ball of water, urging him with images to try it for himself, but he was having none of it, his glare clearly speaking his mind for him.  A bit of amusement softened the weight of her anxiety at his unwavering refusal; at least _someone_ other than her wasn’t a complete fool.

The stalemate did not last long.  The male child, clearly bored, had started shifting from one foot to the other, and She watched as the mischief took form in his mind and spread across his face in a grin.  The female child was too engrossed in her attempt to persuade the male to touch the water to see it coming.  Not that she could have stopped it if she had.  The male child was far too fast for any of them to stop once he had made up his mind.

In a blur of motion, the male child darted up to the ball of water, stuck one finger inside, and flicked it at the female child, grinning wickedly before running away, out of reach of retaliation.  Several droplets of water landed on her face, causing her to shake her head in surprise.  The ball she held trembled as her concentration wavered, but it did not fall.  Once she recovered, she sent the male child a dirty look but took no other action.

Until the male child did it a second time.  And then a third.  And that was apparently the limit of the female child’s patience.  Before the male child could play his prank for a fourth time, he found that the ball of water was suddenly racing at _him_ instead of the other way around.  She caught a glimpse of wide blue eyes for a half-second before he had zipped away in a blur of movement, reappearing nearby only to have to run again as the ball chased him about the room.

It made for a very good distraction.  Good enough that she could most likely get to the door and escape back out into the hallway where she could more easily recover her calm.  No one was paying her any attention, and the intruder was busy making a lot of little worried noises as he watched the female child try to soak the constantly-fleeing male child.  Slowly, she began to slink her way along the wall towards the exit, one hand dragging along the surface behind her.

_UmWandaIreallydon’tthinkyoushould...Ahbecarefulofthat...I’msurePietrodidn’tmean...That’sprobablynot...ohdear_

She had made it about halfway when she heard it: sounds, short and choppy, little bursts of noise that rose and fell without any real pattern.  They had two distinct pitches to them, one higher, one lower, and they shimmered in her mind, riding on the back of a great swell of that dizzying emotion that She recognized and yet didn’t.  Just like before, she somehow Knew what these sounds were, although she didn’t understand why they caused her pain.  Not in her mind, but in her heart.

Laughter.  The children were laughing as they moved about the room in their wild dance.  Their smiles were enormous; their joy was so bright it hurt.  Her feet had stopped.  Her entire body had gone still.  She had water in her eyes again, and she didn’t know why.  Confused, she sought out the male and found him looking as stunned as she was.  His eyes, however, were not on her but on the intruder, the one who had brought about this change.  

The intruder was still watching the children, a smile on his face and what looked like water in his eyes as well.  Carefully, She reached out her mind to touch his.  A thick swirl of emotions swept into her mind: happiness and pride, melancholy and hurt.  She felt his fondness for the children and something far deeper.  That need to Protect that the male had felt earlier.  She felt it now, solid and strong and unwavering.  It rippled through every corner of the intruder’s mind, as much a part of him as his breath and blood.

Slowly, very slowly, She allowed herself to relax.  Every instinct she possessed was still screaming at her that the intruders were dangerous, but maybe, just maybe, she could let her guard down around this one.  Maybe she could trust this one.  Just a little.  Her muscles began to loosen, and her stance softened as her vigilance lessened.

Unfortunately, that was the moment the male child decided to pause and try to catch his breath.  The female child, sensing his momentary weakness, threw the water with all her strength directly at him.  Although he was clearly tired, he still had enough energy in him to dodge the attack, so he did so, not realizing that someone was standing directly behind him.

The water hit her full in the face, knocking her back several steps and instantly drenching her from head to shoulders.  She gasped in shock, then choked when the soaked face-cover refused to allow any air into her mouth.  Fingers scrabbling, she ripped it from her face and threw it to the ground.  Once she could breathe again, she stood still for a minute, letting the water drip from her body onto the floor.  The water pulled bits of her hair in front of her eyes, stuck it to her face in uncomfortable ways, but she refused to push it aside.  Instead, she lifted her heavy gaze and stared across the room at the two children who were standing side by side, terror written clearly on their faces.

She snarled.  The children disappeared.  A few seconds later, she felt them appear again in the most Down, still scared and rightfully so.

Concern filtered through to her from the remaining two occupants of the room, especially from the intruder who had moved to the other side of the room, looking for something.  The male was watching her, his gaze careful.  She frowned at him and pointedly shook water from her fingertips.

**Kill**

He rolled his eyes at her.

**_No_ **

**Punish?**

**_No_ **

She sighed and lifted a hand to push her hair, still dripping, off of her face.  Of course she didn’t _actually_ want to kill the children, but she was wet and cold and angry.  Surely a little bit of pain in retaliation would be allowed.  She locked her gaze with the male’s once again.

**Please?**

His eyes crinkled with amusement, and surprisingly, the sight helped to ease the negative feelings within her.  A little bit, at least.  She shook her head, droplets flying with the movement, and attempted to wipe her face and shoulders with already damp hands.

A small noise drew her attention from her task to the intruder who had returned with an armful of white things.  He placed them on a nearby table and then pointedly retreated again, explaining to her in his halted speech that they would help to get her dry again.  Shrugging, she crossed to the table, picked up one of the things, and used it to wipe her face, finding that he had been correct.  It didn’t do much for her body-covering, but it removed all the water from her skin and a fair amount from her hair.  By the time she had finished, he was smiling at her, clearly pleased that she had trusted him enough to accept his help.

They had no reason to be there anymore and the male was indicating his desire to leave, but as much as She agreed with that desire, her heart was telling her there was one last thing to be done.  Her mind and her instincts didn’t like it, but she knew it was the right thing to do.  The intruder deserved it.  He had been nothing but kind to all of them, helping them when they were in pain, and she had attacked him and hurt his mind.  She owed him an apology.

Carefully, she lowered herself to her knees, bent at the waist with her hands on the floor, and allowed her head to drop until the back of her neck was exposed to the intruder.  He was still far enough away that she would be able to defend herself if he approached -- she wasn’t _stupid_ \-- but the intent was clear.  The monsters who had hurt them in this room had forced all of them to bow like this many times.  This pose was vulnerability.  This pose was submission.  And for just a moment, She gave it to the intruder willingly as a sign of her knowledge of and regret for her mistake.

The male’s mind was awash with anxiety at the reminder of their shared past, but he calmed once she straightened up again.  As for the intruder, he had not understood the weight of what she had just done, but he seemed to understand the meaning behind the gesture.  She could feel gratefulness in his mind and a little bit of gentle sadness as well.  When she rose to her feet, her retrieved face-cover in hand, he offered her a small smile which she allowed herself to return.

Then she turned and left that nightmare of a room, heading for the room of fire with the intent to get warm again.

xXx

Technically, Odinson had been the one scheduled to go down with Rogers this time.  Technically, Tony didn’t give a shit.  Banner, the only one on the ship who was worth talking to, had done something _extremely_ stupid, and Tony wasn’t about to let him get away with it without lecturing his ear off.  Plus, Banner had asked for some fun toys to be taken down to him, and whatever he wanted them for, Tony wanted in on that.  Plus _plus_ , he hadn’t met their new friends yet and thanks to some schematics he had found on that data dump Banner had sent back with Rogers and Barton, Tony wanted a look at that one guy’s arm.

Rogers had objected, of course, going on about how _he_ was the captain and Tony should be listening to him.  Again, the amount of shits that Tony was currently giving?  Zero.  And the number of pretty tech toys that he was willing to give if he didn’t get to go?  Also zero.  So onto the lander he went, Rogers grumbling like the big bad sport he was.  Odinson and Barton seemed to find the whole affair very amusing.  Tony liked them.

Banner had met them in the main room on the first floor, the only room that Tony had seen yet.  The smaller man took one look at him and paled to the roots of his curly mop of hair.

“T-Tony,” he stuttered, eyes flicking to Rogers who had moved to one side, arms crossed over his chest in a resigned pose.  “I wasn’t expecting --”

“Okay, shut up,” Tony cut him off, waving one hand.  “I’m going to yell at you for at least five minutes, and you are going to stand there and take it and nod your head and agree with me that you’re an absolute idiot and you shouldn’t have put your life at risk and scared the crap out of me in the process, and then when I’m done, you’re going to say ‘Sorry, Tony, I’ll never do it again,’ and then give me a tour of this place.  Got it?”

Banner nodded.  So Tony got on with it.

A little over five minutes later, they had shed their spacesuits and Banner was showing them the space on the second floor where he had turned the Chitauri sleeping quarters into a place where he could live for a few days.  Thankfully, no one had died in this room, so it had been relatively clean.  All Banner had had to do was claim a hammock and make sure the bathroom had running water.  He had gratefully taken the bag of supplies that Rogers had brought for him, and as he talked, he placed the small bottles of soap and shampoo in the bathroom and the spare sets of clothes on the ground under his hammock.

Banner was giving him and Rogers a brief report on his plans for the equipment in Tony’s bag when Tony felt a strange warmth creeping up the back of his skull.  A moment later, a woman’s voice said, “ _Friend Bruce?_ ”

Rogers jumped at the same time Tony did, but Banner just smiled at them.  “That’s Wanda,” he explained.

“They’re talking?” Rogers asked, his face lighting up with surprise and hope.

“Just the Maximoffs,” Banner replied.  “They only know a few words right now and they have little concept of sentence structure, but they’re picking up the language extremely quickly.”

“ _Who, Friend Bruce?  Who?_ ”

“Why is her voice in my head?” Tony demanded, lifting a hand to cradle the side of it.  It almost felt like she was speaking directly into his brain.

“Hold on a minute,” Banner said, raising a finger and closing his eyes.  “Let me answer her, or she’ll just keep asking.”  He took a breath, let it out through his nose, and then said in an even voice, “They’re my friends, Wanda.  Steve and Tony.”

“ _Steve.  Tony._ ”

“Yes.  Come meet them if you like.”  When her voice did not come again, Banner opened his eyes and answered Tony’s earlier question.  “They can’t talk normally, so they use their telepathic abilities to put the words directly into our heads.  You read the reports in that data I sent you, right?”

Both Tony and Rogers nodded.  Poor kids had had their throats ripped out.  After reading that, Tony had spent several hours wondering if he could raise the intensity of his psychic jammer or otherwise alter it so that it fried those damn lizards’ nerves while it scrambled their brains.  Some ethics committee somewhere would probably object, but screw them.

Banner had continued, oblivious to Tony’s thoughts.  “That’s why I wanted this equipment.  The Chitauri put psychic walls in their minds, but the ones corresponding to speech broke for both of the Maximoffs.  I want to analyze the differences between their minds and the minds of the other two to see if I can understand anything about what happened.”

“Do you know how they broke?” Rogers asked.

“I think so,” Banner replied, turning to him, “but I’m not sure if I can reproduce it with the other two.  And it was painful for them.  If there’s a way I can eliminate that pain, that would be ideal.”

“I can help you with that,” Tony offered.  “You’re the biologist of the two of us, but I have some experience dealing with this psychic crap so whatever I can do to assist, I’m willing to do it.”

The other man turned back to him with a smile.  “I was hoping you’d say that.  Thanks, Tony.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony replied, waving a hand at his friend.  “Now let’s keep going.  So far this tour is boring.”

They only made it as far as the main room on the first basement floor.  The Maximoffs were waiting for them there, standing side-by-side in the hallway, holding hands.  Tony took a moment to take in their appearance: obviously underfed and physically abused, but smiling and clearly more at ease with the men in front of them than they had been before.

“ _Hello,_ ” they chorused, their voices mixing in his head.

Banner took a step closer to them and gestured behind him as he introduced, “Wanda, Pietro, this is Steve, and this is Tony.  Steve is our leader, and Tony is like me.  A friend.”

The twins looked at each other for a moment before nodding and looking back.  “ _Leader Steve,_ ” Wanda agreed.  “ _Friend Tony._ ”

“ _Brother Pietro,_ ” Pietro added, gesturing with his free hand, first to himself, then to his sister.  “ _Sister Wanda._ ”

Rogers looked like his head was going to split from the smile that had taken over his face.  “Very nice to meet you,” he said.  Tony rolled his eyes at him and said nothing.  This “Me Tarzan, you Jane” stuff wasn’t what he had come down here for.

Thankfully, Banner was on the same page as he was.  “Wanda, Pietro, can you get your leader and Natasha, please?  We’d like to talk to all four of you.”

Wanda nodded, and a moment later, a single word appeared in Tony’s head: “ _Yes._ ”

“Thank you.”  Banner turned back to him and Rogers.  “We should find someplace to set up,” he advised.  “Somewhere with chairs and a table and enough space for all of us without making them feel threatened.”  
  
“There’s the lab you guys found last time,” Tony suggested, but both Rogers and Banner were shaking their heads before he had even finished.

“The lab makes them uncomfortable,” Banner told him.  He grimaced and added, “And for good reason.”

“This floor is mainly offices,” Rogers said, looking around at the various doors, “plus storage, maintenance, and the incinerator.  I suggest going back upstairs to the main operations room.  There’s plenty of space there, as well as chairs and workstations that we can use as tables.”

Tony rolled his eyes and griped, “I’m never going to get a proper tour, am I?”

Banner laughed at him and replied, “It’s not that interesting of a place, Tony.”  Turning his attention to the captain, he added, “I agree.  That’s a fine spot.”

That decided, they tramped back up the stairs to the main room with the Maximoffs following at a respectable distance.  There wasn’t really that much to set up, and they finished long before the other two telepaths arrived, hanging back in the hallway rather than join the twins who had stopped to watch just inside the door.  Tony gave Romanov and the as-of-yet-unknown Winter a once-over just as he had done the others.  Half-starved, battered, and extremely untrusting of the men who had barged into their safe space.  If looks could kill, he was sure Romanov would have gutted him several times over by now.

She wasn’t the one Tony was interested in, however.  He only had eyes for the glowering beast of a man who stood next to her, the bottom half of his face hidden by a mask that looked like it doubled as an air-purifier.  His left arm hung loosely at his side, taunting Tony with its hidden mysteries.  The notes had claimed that it was part organic, part mechanical, a possibility that had his fingers itching to play with it, take it apart, and improve it.  Unfortunately, he hadn’t yet worked out how he was going to do that without getting himself choked or clawed to death.

“Thank you for coming,” Banner was saying, a bit awkwardly.  “Um, I’m not sure how to word this, but we have something we wanted to show you.  And then, afterwards, hopefully you’ll be willing to help us?

“ _Show_ ,” Pietro Maximoff parroted, and Wanda Maximoff eagerly added, “ _Help Bruce_.”  Tony bit his tongue.  He was going to tease Banner to _death_ about his little fan club, but not now.  In spite of what most people thought, Tony could, in fact, behave; he just chose not to bother most of the time.

“Thank you.  Um.  Okay.”  Banner wrung his hands a little, looking around as if for inspiration on how to proceed.  “So, um, what we’d like to do is take pictures of your minds.  I know that probably doesn’t make any sense, so that’s why we’re going to show you.  I promise it doesn’t hurt.  You won’t even notice that we’re doing it.  But I know you’ve had a lot of terrible things done to you by tech that probably looks a lot like this, so … yeah.”  He took a deep breath and let it out again before finishing, half to himself, “This is where we find out if you trust me as much as I think you do.”  And he met Tony’s eyes and nodded.

Carefully, Tony reached down to the workstation next to him, grabbed the scanner wand in one hand, and lifted it up so it was visible to everyone.  Instantly, all four of the telepaths reacted negatively: the twins backed away, cringing and clinging to each other, while Romanov and Winter took battle stances, knees and backs slightly bent and eyes bright with angry alertness.  Tony was relieved that none of them felt threatened enough to slam some painful voodoo at their brains, but he felt the atmosphere suddenly become heavy and the air slightly harder to breathe.

Banner was waving his hands almost immediately.  “It’s okay!  It’s okay!  It’s not going to hurt you, I promise.  I _promise!_ ”  Slowly, he began to walk to the chair that sat a few feet in front of Tony, his hands up and palms out the entire time in a gesture of peace.  Something he was doing seemed to be working, for the twins relaxed a bit and watched him with curious gazes.  Romanov’s eyes stayed glued to Banner, but Winter’s eyes moved to Rogers who had planted himself against the far wall, removed from what the other two were doing.  Tony wasn’t sure what the other man was looking for, but he seemed to find it.  Very slowly, his body began to loosen into a more relaxed stance.

When Banner reached the chair, he lowered himself into it and continued his explanation as if his listeners could actually understand anything he was saying.  “So what’s going to happen is that Tony is going to move this stick over my head, kind of slowly, and I’m going to sit very still.  And when he’s done, the stick will have taken a picture of the inside of my head that we can then look at.  Okay?”  He gestured with the fingers of one hand, signalling Tony to start.  Taking a breath to steady himself, Tony did so.  He activated the scanner and, starting next to Banner’s left ear, slowly moved it along the curve of his skull.  Once he reached his right ear, he stepped back and pushed the few buttons that would transfer the data to the portable computer that he had also placed on the workstation.

Banner was talking again, keeping up a gentle flow of words in his most-soothing voice.  “See how easy that was for me?  I didn’t feel anything, just heard a bit of a buzz as it went by my ears.  Nothing intrusive.  Nothing painful.  And now that that’s done, Tony can take the picture and make it big enough for all of us to see.”

Which Tony did.  His fingers flew over the keyboard, and a moment later, a holographic 3-D image of Banner’s brain hung in the air about halfway between the two groups.  As expected, the four telepaths all jumped in surprise, but this time they recovered almost immediately.  Pietro Maximoff even found enough courage to investigate more closely, zipping up to the hologram and poking at it, grinning widely when his hand went right through.

“And that’s it,” Banner said, getting to his feet.  “That’s all the stick does.  So ...”  He paused and took another breath before finishing, “So I’d like to take pictures of all of you now.  If that’s all right.”

_Please say yes please say yes please say yes_ , Tony prayed internally.   _And then say I can play with the arm._

A long, silent moment passed in which no one moved or spoke.  Then, suddenly, Pietro Maximoff was back by his sister near the door and Winter was striding forward purposely.  He stopped still a fair distance away but close enough that Tony could clearly see the full force of his weighty stare.  It settled on Banner who bore it, to his credit, without flinching.

“ _Why?_ ”

The word was in Wanda’s voice, but it was clearly not her question.

“Why?” Banner echoed, his forehead creasing in mild confusion.  “Why do I want to take pictures of your minds?”

“ _Why?_ ” she said again, this time a little more forcefully as if confirming his question.

The small man waved his hands a bit as he explained, “Well, you were hurting, right?  In your heads.  In your minds.  You, Wanda, and you, Pietro.  There was pain.  And I thought if I could see a picture, I could see the pain and try to help heal it.  Make it go away.”

“ _Pain gone,_ ” Wanda answered immediately, although the way she gazed at them and Banner in particular was a clear apology.  “ _Pietro, Wanda, pain gone.  No pain._ ” 

“I realize you two have gone through the worst of it, but the others --”

“ _Natasha no pain.  Bruce no help.  No pain._ ”

The lack of the fourth name hung heavy in the air until Rogers broke the silence by saying, quietly, “Wanda, Pietro, and Natasha no pain.  Leader yes pain?”

Winter’s eyes narrowed dangerously as Wanda answered, “ _Leader fine.  Bruce no help Leader._ ”

Her “voice” had wavered significantly at this statement, causing Tony to dip his head and mutter under his breath, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“Tony,” Rogers warned him lowly.

“Well, he is,” he said, even more quietly, and turned to place the scanner back on the flat surface of the workstation.  It looked as if he wasn’t going to get his chance to look at anything interesting today.

“ _Wait._ ”

Tony turned back to find Winter with his human hand raised in the air and his eyes burning holes into Rogers.  The air grew heavy again, thick with an oppressive energy that Tony realized was Winter revving up his psychic juices to take a deep dive into his captain’s mind.  Rogers, to Tony’s surprise, didn’t seem to be the slightest bit worried or afraid.  He stood up straight from the wall, let his arms fall loosely at his sides, and closed his eyes.  A moment later, he twitched slightly, but that was the only sign that his mind had been invaded.  When he opened his eyes a few minutes later, there was sweat on his brow but a soft smile on his face.

Winter took a half-step backwards, his stance far more relaxed than it had been before.  “ _Yes_ ,” Wanda said for him, her lips smiling now as well.  “ _Leader first.  Bruce.  No Tony._ ”  And Winter pointed at the scanner still in Tony’s hand to emphasize what he meant.

“I get it,” Tony replied with a grin.  “You like him better than me.”  But he was already walking over to Banner, holding out the scanner to trade.

“Well, um, they’ve known me longer,” Banner was trying to explain, ducking his head in embarrassment, “so I guess they feel more comfortable around --”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony cut him off with a hard clap against his shoulder.  “Go sign autographs, superstar.  I’ll be in the truck with the rest of the roadies.”  He wandered back to the workstation to turn off the hologram, leaving Banner to splutter for a moment before grabbing the chair he had been sitting in and starting to cross the room to Winter.

As it turned out, Winter and Romanov were both excellent patients.  They both kept perfectly still and were done with their scans within seconds.  Pietro Maximoff, on the other hand, couldn’t sit still to save his life, and Wanda Maximoff kept turning her head to follow Banner’s movements and then jumping up too soon to see the results.  Banner had the patience of a saint as usual, however, and eventually they had the data for four brain scans safely sitting on Tony’s machine.  Once they were all done, he threw all four of them up as holograms so everyone could watch as he and Banner examined them.

“Here,” the smaller man said, pointing out a spot in Romanov’s scan.  “See how this section is dark for Natasha and Winter, but this same spot is lit up with neural activity in Wanda and Pietro.”

“Speech centers,” Tony surmised, peering at Pietro’s scan and using his fingers to zoom in a bit.  “Or language or whatever.  The bit that keeps them from understanding English.”  He shifted the readings from neural to tissue.  “It’s swollen for the kids.  Looks pink and ouchy.”

“Like I said, it hurt them when the barrier broke.  The tissue is probably still recovering.”

“And these huge dark areas,” Tony said, switching back to neural and indicating a much larger area that was dark for all four, “these are the memories, you think?”

“Very likely.”  Banner rubbed his forehead a little, a gesture that Tony knew meant he was thinking -- and feeling -- too much.  “If that small barrier hurt like hell when it came down, they’re going to be in absolute agony when this one breaks.”

“Which is why we’re doing this, Bruce, buddy.  So we can take it down carefully and limit how much it hurts.”  He grabbed his friend’s shoulder again, this time with less force and far more tenderness.

“What about Winter?” Rogers asked from behind them, and the two scientists jumped a bit, having forgotten there were others in the room.  When they both turned to their captain, he waved at the holograms and continued, “He didn’t admit to being in pain, but is he?  Can you tell?”

Banner turned to the scan in question and started examining it in detail, checking both the neural activity and the tissue readings.  “His speech center is fine, but the memory section looks a little swollen in places.  Something is trying to jog his memories.  Oh, that’s not good,” he muttered to himself, spinning the scan to look at it from another angle.

“Just means we have to find a way to slow it down and fast,” Tony replied with a shrug.  “I work better with a deadline anyway.  You know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Banner responded absently.  His fingers slowed and then stilled, hovering over a section of Winter’s brain that was nowhere near the psychic blocks.  “This …” he said slowly, as if to himself.  “Yeah, I don’t like this.  I don’t like it at all.”

“What?”  Tony peered over his shoulder but didn’t see what his friend was on about.  “What don’t you like?  Looks fine to me.”

“That’s because you’re not a biologist,” Banner replied with a small smile.  “But I’ve seen patterns like this with other patients.  The tissue isn’t swollen and the neural activity looks normal, but if you know what you’re looking for, you can see it’s not.”  He ran his fingers over the image, enhancing and tweaking until Tony could almost see what Banner was trying to show him.

“It looks … tired?  Over-used?” he guessed.  “Run down?”

“Chronic pain,” the smaller man confirmed.  “A pain that’s so constant that you learn to live with it, forget it’s there, but it’s never really gone.  You can’t ever truly forget it.  It damages in subtle ways.  Just like that.”

Rogers made a small sighing sound of sympathy.  “He’s in constant pain?  And just what?  Dealing with it?”

Tony glanced over at the telepath in question who had retreated with Romanov back to the far side of the room.  He was watching them steadily but without hostility.  And without, it seemed, any visible pain.

“Looks like it.”

“What about the others?  Are any of them in pain like that?”

Banner quickly checked the other scans, but Tony knew, with a growing glee, what he would find before he spoke.  “No.  They’re all fine.”

“It’s the arm,” he announced, letting his eyes latch hungrily onto it.  “It’s gotta be.”

“Makes sense,” Banner replied.  “The Chitauri probably didn’t care too much about his comfort level when they amputated the original one and put that one on.”

“So his arm is causing him pain?”

“Very likely.”

“And you know what that means?” Tony asked, grinning so hard that his cheeks hurt.  Without waiting for an answer, he ran back to the workstation, switched off the holograms, turned back to all the eyes watching him, clapped his hands together excitedly, and practically crowed, “That means it’s _my turn!_ ”


	7. Chapter 7

He had names for all of them now, these strange Unknown whose minds were isolated and unique.  The Unknown Healer with his kindness and his compassion had his trust.  The Unknown Leader with his protectiveness and his openness had his respect.  The third Unknown who had come before intrigued him.  He had not seen much of the other’s mind, but what he had seen reminded him of She and the cool effectiveness He admired.  He was the Quiet Unknown, at least until He could see more of him.  And as for the fourth …

The fourth was simply mad.

_Tonythat’saterribleideaTheybarelytrustusasitisWinteris_ ** _not_** _goingtoletyoucloseenoughtohimtolookathisarm_

_WhynotIthurtsIcanhelpSimpleNoreasonnottoletmepokeatit_

His mind just wouldn’t stop _moving_.  It had been fairly mild when they had first arrived, a slight distraction of constant motion and sound, but something in the glowing pictures the Healer had taken had set off an explosion in the fourth Unknown’s mind and it hadn’t stopped.  He had _dozens_ of thoughts tearing about his mind at once, mixing and swirling with each other before pulling apart again and racing away.  It was as if his mind was full of Two-Hes, running full speed with no discernible direction.  He couldn’t bear to watch it long; it gave him a headache.

_I’mseriousTonyThisisafragiletrustI’vebuiltI’mnotgoingtoletyoudestroyitjustbecauseyouwantanewtoytoplaywith_

_GodBruceI’mnotgoingtodestroyanythingIt’shurtinghimforgod’ssakeDon’tyouwanttofixthatRogersyouwantthatright_

_WhileIdon’tlikethethoughtofhimhurtingIlikethethoughtofthemretreatingbackintothebasementinfearevenlessSorryTonyI’mwithBruceonthisoneBackoff_

The Mad Unknown made noises far more rapidly as well.  The Leader and the Healer had a sort of rhythm to their noises that allowed for pauses in which to breathe.  The Mad Unknown didn’t seem to think breathing necessary.  It was a wonder he didn’t topple over in exhaustion.  It was a wonder that the other two Unknown could understand him.

That thought in mind, He turned his head to check on Two-She.  She had had little trouble explaining the Unknown’s noises before, but now she was frowning, her brow lined with fatigue.  She had not shared any of the noises with them for some time, making him wonder if she had understood anything since the Mad Unknown’s mind had exploded.  Gently, he suggested she stop -- the Unknown appeared to be arguing with each other rather than attempting communication with them -- but she shook her head stubbornly.  He felt her resolve swell, her concentration sharpen, so he went back to watching the Unknowns and let her be.

_OkaylookIcanprobablyconvincehimtoletustakeacoupleofscansofitWillthatbeenoughforyou_

_Noitwon’tbeenoughScansaren’tgoingtotellmeanythingnewIalreadyhavealloftheschematicsIneedtoseeitformyself_

_OkayIknowI’mnotascientistbutIdon’tseewhatseeingitinpersonwouldgiveyouthattheoriginalplansandsomecurrentscanswouldn’t_

_Theywouldn’tgivemethethrilloftouchingitmyselfobviouslySomethingthatnewandinterestingnottomentionalienIneedtoinvestigateitfullyplaywiththemechanicsopenitupandseewhatmakesittick_

_… -- Danger_

The quiet emotion, so unexpected, sent a bolt of cold apprehension shooting through his spine.   He snapped his head to Two-She again.  She was still frowning, her eyes nearly shut in concentration, her expression dark.

**_What?_ **

_ChristTonyareyoucrazyThesepeoplearesurvivorsofabasefullofmadscientistsAndthey’re_ ** _telepaths_** _Cleanyourheadoutofthosethoughtsrightnowbeforetheynotice_

_OhmyGodhe’srightTonyclearyourmind_

_AreyouttwoseriousIdon’tthinkIknowhowtodothat_

**_Danger what?_ **

Two-She shook her head at him, unable to explain.  Two-He had caught her anxiety, and He felt their minds swirling with uncertainty as they both tried to make sense of the never-ending noises.

_Confusion -- Nervous_

_Danger -- Danger_

**_Stop_ **

They obeyed, the stress in their minds smoothing out as they let their concentration slip.  Satisfied that they would be fine, He shifted his attention to She who was standing nearby, waiting for him.  He nodded once to her, and she returned the gesture before they linked their minds together.  Once they were firmly connected, She proceeded to scan the Unknown while He waited to share her findings with the other two.

The images that began to flood into his mind from the Healer and the Leader were similar and not threatening.  They were both angry at the Mad Unknown, and they both felt a generalized fear.  The Protect emotion that He had felt in both of them previously was still strong, still focused.  If Two-She had picked up Danger from the noises, it had not come from them.  He nudged She gently with his mind, urging her to leave them and move to the Mad Unknown.  In response, he felt her reluctance -- She did not wish to deal with that whirlwind of a mind either -- but he insisted with more than a hint of apology.  She caught his eye briefly before sighing and complying.

She didn’t scan very deeply, and for that he was grateful since the influx of images was wild and heavy enough for five minds.  The emotions that coursed through him ranged from excitement to wonder to fear to anger, and they wouldn’t hold still.  Gritting his teeth, He dove in and tried to extract _something_ that he could understand.

What he found made icy fear stop his heart and pin him to the floor: His Them arm on a table, strapped down, covered in wires while the Mad Unknown poked him with pointed things.  The arm opened, showing bone, with more things sticking up at odd angles.  The Mad Unknown taking pieces off, putting new pieces on.   _Disassembling_ him.

Too fast, too hard, he broke the connection with She’s mind, but it was too late.  The thoughts were in his mind now.  Gnawing at him, chewing on his heart.  This wasn’t a new emotion.  Oh no.  He had seen thoughts like these before.  He had seen them every day since he had taken the first step to freedom.  Every time he opened his mind and let it drift to touch the minds of the ones who hurt them.  These were Them-thoughts.  Thoughts of pain and possession and cruelty.

The Mad Unknown had Them-thoughts, and he wanted his arm.  He wanted _him_.

He staggered, took a step back.  Instantly, the other three were surrounding him, Protecting him.  They did not attack, not without his order, but they were ready.  Two-She’s hands glowed red, and He could feel the taut readiness of She’s mind and Two-He’s body.  They quivered with suppressed violence, waiting on his order: run or kill.

**_GoddammitStark_** _Clearyourmind_ ** _rightnow_ **

A roar of noise from the Unknown Leader.  A wave of fury, mixed with overwhelming Protect.  Not just for his own men, but for them all.  Swallowing hard, He forced his breath to slow, his fear to subside.  Across the room, the Healer was making more noises, his mind pouring out apologies and calm and peace, and the Mad Unknown was trying in vain to make his mind just _be still_.  And the Leader … the Leader’s mind was screaming Protect.  Protect them all.  Let no one get hurt.

Slowly, he inhaled a deep breath, let it out again, and gave his order: **_Stop_ **

Muscles relaxed.  Hands lowered.  Minds stilled.  Across the room, fury and fear subsided.  And quiet reigned.

Thoughtfully, He regarded the Leader of the Unknown.  Why would such a man travel with one with Them-thoughts?  Clearly he knew of them: the anger, the fear.  Yet he did not consider them to be a threat.  This was a foolishness that made his own anger rise.  Ever since they had first set foot here, the Unknown had been trying to convince him and the others to go with them, to willingly put themselves back into the company of one with Them-thoughts.  One was certainly less of a threat than dozens, but even one, with the right machines, could cause more pain than this idiot Unknown Leader could imagine.

He knew that for a fact.  And he could prove it.

Quickly, he explained his intentions to She and Two-She.  She’s disapproval and Two-She’s anxiety flickered against the corners of his mind, but they both acknowledged his order.  He could have asked one of them to do it instead -- they were stronger after all -- but He was Leader and therefore it was his responsibility.  And it had been his arm on that table in the Unknown’s thoughts.  That made it personal.

None of the Unknown had moved since the sudden silence had fallen on the room.  The Mad Unknown remained pressed up against a table, his body motionless, a hand over his mouth as if that would stop the winds within his mind.  Deliberately, He met the Unknown’s gaze with his own.  Then, he moved his Them-arm into view and slowly curled and uncurled its fist.  Instantly, the Unknown’s mind jumped and quivered, unable to be contained in spite of how hard he tried.  Flickers of Them-thoughts rose to the surface, shining there in full view for a brief second before the Unknown caught them and pulled them back down to hide them away again.

He dove in and chased them.

It was, He realized immediately, a very bad idea.  Scanning the madness within this Unknown’s mind had been bad enough.  Actually being present was like being caught in the middle of a violent storm.  Stray thoughts buffeted him from all sides as he tried to keep up with the retreating images that he wanted.  They kept hindering his focus, knocking him off-course, and rattling his concentration with their wild sounds and colors.  Somehow, he managed to capture a Them-thought before it disappeared completely, but there was no way He was going to be able to examine it, not with all these other thoughts screaming past him in every direction.

He told himself he had no other choice.  Yes, it was painfully similar to what the Them had done to him on multiple occasions, but there was no other option and He would take care not to cause the Unknown any pain.  He had to show the Leader the depth of the thoughts of this madman.  He had to make him understand what he was asking every time he invited them to accept their help and come with them.  This was the way He could do that, show him the evil that slept next to him within his own man.  There was no other way.  He had no other choice.

Keeping a firm grip on the thought he had captured, He gathered his strength and began pushing the other thoughts away and into neat lines.

_OhmyGodWhat...WhatareyoudoingAreyoutryingtoorganizemythoughtsNonononononoDon’tyourealizethatchaosiswhatgeniusisbornfromStopitGetoutofmyheadGetout_

_TonyWhat’s …_

_He’sinmyheadBruceGethimoutgethimoutgethimout_

He quickly became tired.  There were just so many of them, and as soon as he got them pinned down, they were struggling to get free again.  The Unknown was fighting him; of course he was.  He was forcibly rearranging the other’s mind into something calm enough for him to work within.  It hurt his heart to do it, but he was trying so hard, _so hard_ , not to cause the other any pain.

_CalmdownTonyCalmdownJustlethimdowhatheneedsDon’tfighthimJustrelax_

_OhmyGodareyou_ ** _shitting_** _meI’vegotastrangerpullingmybrainsapartfromtheinsideandyouwantmeto_ ** _relax_ **

_TonyTonyTonyLookatmeLookrightatmeJustbreatheokayBreathewithmeNolookatmeLookatmeandbreathe_

Slowly, so slowly, the pinned thoughts began to cease their struggling, much to his relief.  He only needed to pin a few more and then the Unknown’s mind would be calm enough.  He worked steadily, the task easier without so much resistance.  Once he had finished, he spread the captured thought out before him and allowed himself to use the rest of his strength to connect with it and fall inside.

Once again, he found himself looking at his own arm laid out on a table while the Mad Unknown poked and prodded at it.  This time He allowed the thought to progress naturally and simply watched it unfold.  Now that he had a mission, a purpose for viewing this, it was easier to watch without becoming upset.  He was gathering information to report back later; he did not need to be afraid.

The Unknown worked for some time, overflowing with happiness and excitement.  He fiddled with a wire here, wrote down some notes there, and when he was finished, he put the arm back together, put his tools away, and … unstrapped the arm.

Well.  That was different.

Certain He had missed something, he made the thought play again, this time watching more closely.  It unfolded in the same manner, ending as before with the Unknown unstrapping him and letting him go.  No forced exercises to gauge the sharpness of his claws.  No tests to determine just how much he could take before he collapsed in pain and exhaustion.  In fact, He realized with surprise, no pain at all.  Only his arm had been strapped down.  The phantom version of himself, half-faceless in the Unknown’s thoughts, had simply been sitting in the chair, making no noise.  When the Them had worked on his arm, they had needed to strap his entire body down and stick something in his mouth so he wouldn’t bite his tongue or break his teeth with the pain.

All the Unknown had done was examine him.  What was the point in that?

Carefully, He pushed at the thought, shaped it to move forward into its natural progression.  He wanted to see where this thought would lead.  What happened next?  Them-thoughts always came with pain, so where was it?  What was next?

**_Show me_ **

The images before him blurred, swirling with an almost sickening speed before finally resolving.  The Unknown was alone now, working in a room similar to that terrible room where they were born and yet different in many ways.  Metal gleamed everywhere.  Wires bunched and snaked over countless surfaces.  And surrounding the Unknown as he bounced in his seat, his mind singing with joy as he worked, were dozens upon dozens of unattached arms in varying stages of completeness.

Not Them-arms, He realized with a jolt.  Us-arms.  With metal Us-hands that ended in round tips instead of claws.

Why?  True, the arm was strong in its own right, but it was the claws that made it a weapon.  And that’s what the arm was: a weapon.  That’s all the Them had ever seen it as.  Why deliberately make it weaker?  It didn’t make sense.

He was fading; he could feel it.  His strength was almost gone.  But he needed more.  He needed to understand.  What were the point of these Them-thoughts that the Mad Unknown had in his tornado-mind?  If not to hurt, if not to kill, then what?  Even if he lost himself within this Unknown’s mind, he _needed_ to know.  He pushed, one more time.

**_Why?_ **

It was too much.  His strength snapped, and all the thoughts that he had pinned before erupted in a screaming blizzard around him.  Desperately, he held onto the thought he had joined, but it was changing beneath him.  The images came to him, slammed into him without mercy, and retreated just as quickly: Unknown on battlefields, explosions ripping pieces of their bodies away; Unknown children in their beds, malformed and crying; Unknown being pulled from twisted wrecks of metal and smoke, pieces of them burned or broken or simply gone.  Pain, misery, despair, they engulfed him as they wailed about him, screaming their emotions into his exhausted mind.

And then, _then_ , the images shifted, and the brightness of them made him shake.  A battlefield Unknown, lifting a child Unknown into his arms and holding it tight, crying with happiness.  The malformed child Unknown, running a race with others of its age, not winning but not being left behind, screaming with laughter.  Other once-broken Unknown going about their lives, no longer despairing, no longer in pain.  And on each one, the gleam of metal.  A metal arm here, a metal leg there.  Copies upon copies of the Mad Unknown’s design, giving the destroyed back a piece of what had been taken from them.

Overwhelmed, He pulled himself from the thought and let it go.

Instantly, he felt She and Two-She circling their strength around him, pulling him out of the Unknown’s mind and back to his own.  The Unknown’s mind was shutting down, the thoughts crashing and spiraling into nothingness, the images turning dark and cold.  Guilt ate at him as he allowed She and Two-She to extract him, lying still within their grip.  He had not caused the Unknown pain, but he had still done too much.  Pushed too hard.  This shutdown was entirely his fault.

He slammed back into his body, gasping for air, and found himself half-collapsed on the floor, supported by Two-He’s body and steadied by She’s hands.  He met her gaze, his eyes struggling to focus on her stern face.

**Fool** she chastised him gently.

He didn’t respond, merely rolled his head into Two-He’s neck and continued to breathe as deeply as the face-cover would allow.

_TonyOhmyGodTony_

_IshealrightWhathappened_

_It’sokayHe’sokayHejustpassedoutJesus_

**Take.  Rest.**

_Yes -- Yes_

**_No_ **

He struggled weakly against Two-He’s arms.  Yes he was tired, yes he needed rest, but not yet.  Not yet.

**Fool** She said again, a little less kindly, and motioned for Two-He to help him to his feet.

**_No_ ** He insisted, reaching out to Two-She with both hands.  She dropped down beside him, taking his right hand in both of hers, and rested her forehead against his.  The physical connection of her gave him the strength to convey what he needed to say before he could leave.  What he needed the Unknown, all three of them, to know.

The emotions given, Two-She pulled back just far enough to smile into his eyes.  Then, she placed a light kiss on his forehead and stood while he fell back into Two-He’s arms, no longer able to fight.

_Leadersorry_

_What_

Carefully, Two-He hauled him to his feet, and She was there on the other side, steadying as much as she could.  Two-He could not pick him up and run like he could with She and Two-She, but he was strong enough to bear He’s weight, at least for one Down.  At least enough to get away.

_LeadersorryLeaderwrongTonynotbadLeadersorry_

Two-She’s noises echoed in his head as they moved, slowly, slowly, to the door.  He hoped, so very much, that she could make them understand how terrible he felt.  For forcing himself into the Mad Unknown’s mind.  For tiring him into blackness.  For not trusting the Leader to know his own men.  He had been wrong, and he regretted what he had done, no matter how much he told himself he had been justified in doing it.

_NoTonyisn’tbadJustalittleoverwhelmingsometimes_

_IsyourLeaderokayDoesheneedhelp_

_LeaderfinePietrohelpNatashahelpTonyokay_

_YesTonywillbeokay_

_GoodWandahappyWandagonowTakecareLeader_

_AllrightThankyouWandaGoodbye_

_ByeBruceByeSteveTellTonyLeadersorry_

_Wewill_

By the time they reached the stairs, He was half-falling, half-walking, barely supported by Two-He’s frame.  But then Two-She was there, taking as much of his weight as she could with her red mist.  Carefully, they helped him down the stairs and into the room with the Fire Machine where he crumpled onto the floor in an exhausted heap.

**Fool** She said one last time as she unbuckled his face-cover and pulled his head into her lap.  Her mind gently stroked his in time with her fingers through his hair.  Two-He and Two-She curled up together against the wall, only a few feet away, and slipped their minds into his as well.  And because she knew him so well, Two-She gave him one final look into the Leader’s mind who remained one Up above them: relief for the Mad Unknown who had woken and gentle concern and worry for him.

Warm, loved, and so very, very tired, He drifted off to sleep with a small smile on his lips.

xXx

“You see?” the silky voice crooned through the speakers.  “This is your true state.  Your natural state.  You desire subjugation, don’t you?  You _crave_ it.”  It slithered about the room, filling up the corners with its low tones.  “You can admit it,” it whispered, soft and seductive.  “I do not mind.”

Sitting in the chair at his station, Thor clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle the laughter that threatened to spill out at the sight of his younger brother.  Loki had sent him a video message, as he did frequently to keep in touch, and he had decided to watch it on the bridge.  His brother had gone through the normal report of how everyone on the ship was doing, the interesting things they had seen lately, the status of their experiments, but somewhere along the way, Loki had gotten himself into a battle for domination with a very unlikely opponent.

“It is an unspoken truth, you know, not that you can speak,” his brother continued to pontificate, gazing steadily at the squirming mass of feathers he held tightly in both hands.  “You think you want freedom, but in reality it diminishes your life’s joy in a mad scramble for … corn and … whatever else we feed you.  You were _made_ to be ruled, and _I_ will be the one to rule you.  I would tell you to kneel, except you don’t have proper knees.”

The chicken stared Loki in the face and replied, “ _Brraaaawwwwk!_ ”

Thor laughed even harder.  On the screen, the chicken finally managed to get its wings free and began to flap wildly until Loki put it down, turning to the camera with a wide grin on his face.  “You see what you left behind, Brother?” he asked, spreading his arms wide.  “Don’t you miss all of this on that little planet hopper you’re on now?”

Smiling, Thor gazed fondly at those sparkling eyes, that grin, the sharp lines in that familiar face.  “I miss you, Brother,” he replied to the image on the screen.  “And Mother and Father.  The rest is not important.”

On-screen, Loki had paused as if waiting for Thor’s response, but now he lowered his arms, the grin sliding into a more subdued smile.  “There is one last thing I need to tell you before I sign off,” he said in a far kinder tone than before, “and I hope that your reaction will be favorable to it.”  He paused again and looked away from the camera, causing Thor to tip his head in concern at the uncharacteristic expression on his brother’s face.

“Father is retiring from command,” Loki finally revealed, turning his gaze back to the camera.  “He intends to stay on as a scientist, but he has sent in his resignation and has made his recommendation for his replacement.  It’s me.”  His eyes softened even further as he added, “We both know that, had you been here, it would have been you.  I hope that you will not be too disappointed, and …”  He hesitated, looked down, looked back up again.  “And that you will forgive me for being glad that you were not here.”

Thor smiled sadly at the clear concern in his brother’s face.  Truthfully, had he been the same man who had left the _Asgard_ all those years ago, this news would have upset him greatly.  Back then, he had wanted nothing more than to command his own ship, to succeed his father and gain his command.  His time on the _Avenger_ , however, had changed him.  He no longer craved power and prestige simply for their own sake.  He still wanted his own command and would get it eventually, but he did not consider his position as second-in-command a failure anymore nor did he begrudge his younger brother the success he had yet to obtain.

The pre-recorded image of his brother had moved on from his announcement and was now grinning again, a little too brightly but Thor did not fault him for it.  “And that is all I wished to tell you,” he said with a small clap of his hands.  “I do hope that you’re doing well, dearest Brother.  Tell that strapping Captain of yours that I would _love_ to have a rousing conversation with him about truth and honor the next time I am in your quadrant.  Take care of yourself, Brother.  Farewell.”

Loki reached towards the camera, and a moment later, the recording ended.  Thor smiled as he watched his brother’s face fade.

A snort diverted his attention to the entrance to the bridge where Barton stood with a wide grin on his face.

“Truth and honor?” he echoed.

Thor threw back his head and laughed.  “My brother likes to compare our Captain to the superheroes of old,” he explained.  “Due to his dedication and his physique, he likens him to some patriotic warrior of high moral compass, dedicated to the people and the greater good.  Whereas for himself, he prefers the undercover vigilante.  Much cooler, he says, and with better toys.”

Barton barked out a laugh of his own.  “Can’t really argue with that,” he commented and wandered towards his seat at navigation.

“What brings you here?” Thor asked him, regarding him with a bit of concern.  There was something in the set of the other man’s shoulders that didn’t seem quite right.  “Your presence is not required for two hours at least.”

Barton shrugged and flopped ungracefully into his chair.  “Got bored,” he answered.

Thor examined him as best he could from several feet away.  Barton was doing an admirable job of pretending to be normal, but there was a tightness in his face that was darkening his expression.  He clearly had something weighing on his mind.  Alas, if the man did not wish to speak of it, Thor was not about to force him to expose his heart against his will.

That said, he wasn’t about to let silence take over the bridge either.

“Friend Barton!” he cried with a smile.  “You will be pleased to hear that we have received orders from command, granting us a month of leave for recovery and resupply.”

“Is that so?” Barton replied, turning in his chair to meet Thor’s eye.  “Any details of where we’re supposed to go to resupply?”

Thor shook his head.  “That is up to the discretion of the Captain.”

“I see.”  Something playful turned up the corners of the other man’s mouth, and his eyes slipped out of focus slightly as if gazing at something in his mind.  “A whole month, huh?  Wonder how the Captain swung that.”

“I am certain I do not know,” Thor replied, happily.  He was quite pleased that Barton had shaken off his sadness so easily.  His smile widening into a full grin, he continued, “Also, I have a report that Lieutenant Wilson is making a fine recovery.  He is estimated to return to us in three weeks, possibly fewer.”

“Excellent,” Barton grinned back at him.  “We all miss Sam.  It’ll be good to have him back.”

“Indeed.  And although he will not return in enough time to assist in our current mission, once we succeed and bring the prisoners of war aboard, Wilson will be most valuable in the much longer task of aiding with their complete recovery.”

It was the wrong thing to say.  Barton’s entire face shut down at once, like a wall crashing to the earth.  All of the light teasing and gentle happiness that had been present moments before completely disappeared.  Thor immediately felt his own face fall in sympathetic response.

“Ah, my friend,” he said quietly, reaching out a hand as if that could accomplish anything, “I am sorry.  Please forgive me.  I did not mean --”

“No,” Barton interrupted him, running a hand through his hair and sighing.  “Don’t apologize.  I’m just being stupid.”  When he lifted his head and met Thor’s eyes again, he looked extremely tired but more open than before.  “I just can’t stop thinking about her,” he admitted, his voice tight.  “About what happened to her.  What she looked like.  How starved and abused she looked.  I … I just … shit.”  He looked away again, visibly upset.

Thor made a quiet noise of sympathy before replying, “It was a terrible ordeal they all endured.  I can only imagine how difficult it must be to know that such a thing happened to a person you care about.”

When Barton didn’t immediately reply, Thor returned his attention to the readings on his screens, but he had only begun examining the output of JARVIS’s latest maintenance check when the other man’s voice captured his focus once more.

“I thought she was dead, you know.  I had accepted it.  Grieved her.  Moved on.  And now … Now I don’t know what I should do.”

Slowly, Thor turned in his chair to face the smaller man fully.  He felt a great sadness overtake him as he understood.  “You loved her.”  It was not a question, but a statement.

Barton met his eyes again at that, his own tired eyes shining with something like resignation. “Sure,” he admitted with a small shrug.  “But not in any meaningful way.  I loved her the way a kid loves a celebrity.  Eternal devotion from far away.  Always hoping that she’ll notice me, that by some miracle she’ll feel the same way.  But never really knowing her as a person, never understanding who she is inside.”  He shrugged again, a self-deprecating gesture.  “That’s not real love.  That’s just infatuation.”

“And yet,” Thor argued, “you felt it.  It was real and it was strong and it was yours.  That it was not a love that would sustain time does not make it any less worthy of an emotion.  It affected you, it lived within you, and it does not deserve to be dismissed.  It was but for a time, but for a time, you loved her, and during that time she was taken from you, and so you mourned her.  There is no shame in any of that.”

Barton was staring at him, wide-eyed.  Thor suppressed a smile.  The others sometimes would mock him because of his strange speech and his ex-Deeper mannerisms, but just because he had grown up in space on a ship where English was not the preferred language, that did not mean he was ignorant or unthoughtful.  His crewmates tended to forget that; he rather enjoyed reminding them from time to time.

“Perhaps,” he offered gently after a long moment of silence, “this new meeting will provide you the opportunity to get to know her as you once wished to.”

But Barton shook his head, his frown returning.  “No,” he replied, “it won’t be the same.  She’s not the same.”  He grimaced slightly, trying to organize his thoughts.  “I mean, she probably has all the same skills.  Probably has _more_ skills now, actually.  But just because a dance has the same steps doesn’t mean it looks the same when another dancer does it.  The essence of who she was, the soul of her, the part of her that made her Natasha …”  He closed his eyes, shook his head.  “That’s gone.  Maybe some of it will come back when we figure out a way to restore her memories, but it will be buried underneath the trauma of what she went through.  It won’t be the same.”  Pausing, he blew out a heavy breath and opened his eyes to meet Thor’s once more.  “Her body is still alive,” he finished dully, “but it doesn’t matter.  The Natasha Romanov I loved is still dead.”

Thoughtfully, Thor leaned back in his chair and looked up at the smooth metal of the bridge’s ceiling.  “I suppose that is true,” he conceded his friend’s statement.  “But, is that truly a terrible thing?”

“What do you mean?” Barton asked him, frowning even more heavily.

Thor inhaled deeply and steadily.  To be fair, he should probably warn the other man.  Shocking his crewmates with examples of his intelligence was one thing, but Thor was about to get serious.  He was about to get _philosophical_.

“When I first joined this crew, I was a very different man than the man I am today.  I had a different perception of the world, different ideals, and different goals.  Were you to place that man next to the me I am now and give us different features, I sincerely doubt that anyone who was unfamiliar with my history would think that we were anything other than two different people.  That version of myself is gone.  It has, in essence, died.  And yet that old me is as much ‘me’ as the current me is.  The concept of ‘me’ still exists.

“It is similar to the riddle of the darned sock.  If a sock becomes worn and full of holes and if you darn it to repair it, you are replacing the material of the original sock with new material.  If you do this again and then again and continue to do it, eventually you will replace close to all or perhaps even all of the original material.  So, at what point does it become a different sock?  None of the original material is present anymore, yet at no point did the sock overtly change.  What holds the essence of the sock, if you will?  Is it the outward shape, the materials it consists of, or something else entirely?  Similarly, what holds the essence of “me”?  My beliefs and mannerisms?  My physical body?  My knowledge?  All of these things change throughout my lifetime, but I at no point cease being me.  I can look at the man I used to be and say, ‘That Thor Odison has died,’ and yet I have been Thor Odinson from every second from then until now.  The essence of who I am has not changed.  And so I ask again, is burying a past version of oneself truly such a terrible thing?”

The question died away into a thick silence that lingered for several minutes.  Poor Barton looked utterly shell-shocked, clearly not used to such weighty topics of discussion.  It was some time before Thor could see any reaction on the other man’s face, any indication in his eyes that his mind was processing what had been said.  Once he did, however, a small smile lifted the corner of Barton’s lips, and his eyes held a familiar sparkle that had been painfully absent since the man had returned from his trip to the planet with the captain and the doctor.

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?” he asked, his tone clearly indicating that if so, the attempt had failed.

Thor just grinned at him and shook his head.  “Indeed not,” he answered brightly.  “It was intended to make you think, my friend.  If those thoughts give you comfort, then I am well pleased, but that was not my aim.”

A small chuckle escaped the smaller man then, and he gazed at Thor like he did not know what to make of him.  “You are a strange one, Odinson,” he said.  “Sometimes I wonder if you’re not really from an entirely different universe.  Some ancient alien trying to blend in with the rest of us.”

Thor laughed, throwing his head back.  “A universe of grand superheroes!” he replied.  “Dedicated to truth and honor and the good of all life forms!”

Barton laughed along with him.

xXx

Steve slowly walked down the stairs from the second floor of the Chitauri base, lost in thought.  He had carried Stark upstairs and placed him in Banner’s hammock to recover.  The doctor had offered to sit with him, so Steve had wandered off, ostensibly to protect the gear they had left behind on the first floor, but he really didn’t think the stuff needed much protecting.  The telepaths had retreated, probably all the way down to the bottom floor again; Steve doubted he’d see them again this trip.

That had been a very close call.  Steve had kept up a brave face, but deep inside he had been terrified.  If the telepaths had chosen to attack them, well … There was no sugar-coating it: all three of them would have died.  They hadn’t brought any weapons since that first time entering the base, so they had had nothing with which to defend themselves.  If Winter hadn’t told his people to stand down and chosen to deal with Stark on his own terms, the _Avenger_ crew would have been reduced to two and their mission utterly destroyed.

Sighing, Steve looked around at the abandoned main room of the first floor and decided to keep wandering.  There were still areas of the base he hadn’t seen, rooms he hadn’t fully explored.  In particular, he wanted to check the supplies for himself and make sure they were adequate.  He knew he was running out of time -- the timer was steadily ticking down to zero -- but that didn’t mean anyone had to go hungry in the meantime.  Not if he could help it.

He was halfway down the stairs to the first basement level when Pietro Maximoff appeared at the bottom in a blur of color.  The young man lifted a hand to indicate that Steve should stop.  Surprised, Steve did.

“ _No._ ”  The word appeared in his head in Maximoff’s slightly-accented voice.  “ _Steve no.  Go back._ ”

“I …” Steve floundered and briefly looked behind himself, back up the stairs.  He turned his head back to the telepath below him and asked, “Is there a reason why?  I just wanted to look around some more.”

Maximoff dropped his hand and turned his own head to look slightly behind him as well, towards the incinerator room.  When he returned his attention to Steve, he looked apologetic.  “ _Leader resting.  Leave Leader alone._ ”

A little thrill shot through Steve yet again that he was finally able to communicate with these people, but it died quickly as he considered the problem in front of him.  “I see.  Okay.  I can definitely leave him alone to rest.  But can I maybe pass through?  Just walk down the hall to the next set of stairs.  I won’t bother anyone.”

Maximoff considered this, his head slightly to one side.  Steve felt the ever-present warmth in the back of his head strengthen just slightly.  He was being scanned, most likely for intention.

“ _Why?_ ” Maximoff finally asked, confirming Steve’s suspicion.

Steve inhaled slowly and let it out.  The real answer to that was “Because I need to do something to distract myself so I don’t think about how my men and I nearly died,” but that wasn’t something he wanted to share with anyone, much less the telepaths.  So instead, he answered, “Because I want to see.  Learn.  If there is any more information on the ones who hurt you that I can use to fight them or anything about how I can help you, I want to find it.”

Again, Maximoff didn’t answer right away.  Belatedly, Steve realized he was probably conversing with the two women who were presumably nearby.

“ _Okay_ ,” the young man finally said.  “ _Steve come.  Pietro take Steve._ ”

“Thank you,” Steve smiled, resuming his descent.  Maximoff moved out of the way to let him through the doorway and then began walking by his side as they moved down the hall.  A smile tugged the corner of his mouth as he asked, “Does it feel strange to walk at regular speed when you can run so fast?”

Maximoff flashed him a grin as he replied, “ _Little._ ”

When they reached the next set of stairs, Steve turned to thank his escort for allowing him through, but the younger man was already stepping down, his hand on the railing.  “Oh!” Steve said, surprised.  “Are you coming with me?”

Blue eyes blinked at him for a moment before the words appeared in his head.  “ _Yes.  Pietro take Steve._ ”

“Oh, I thought that meant just, you know …”  He waved a hand down the hallway, but quickly shrugged off his shock and kept moving.  He certainly didn’t object to the company.  It was actually very nice to think that Maximoff trusted Steve enough to spend an extended period of time with him.  Not that the young man had anything to fear from him, even with his smaller build.  Maximoff could probably snap Steve’s neck before he could even blink.

Determinedly, Steve stomped that thought down good and hard and kept walking.

They wandered through the second basement, conversing a little, exploring the rooms Steve had yet to see and purposely avoiding the large lab.  There wasn’t much of interest remaining on that floor, so they soon moved on to the third basement.  Maximoff showed Steve the supply room, and he took a fair amount of time investigating.  When he had finished, his conclusions indicated that they would run out of food in a little over a month.  Definitely something he could use to try to convince Winter to come with them.  In addition, he noted with a smile that most of the food his crew had gifted to them was gone.  None of the strawberries remained.

“Next time we come,” he said to Maximoff, waiting in the doorway, “I’ll have to remember to bring some more of Thor’s fruit for you.”

“ _Thor?_ ” the other man asked, his expression confused.  “ _Who?_ ”

“One of my crewmen,” Steve replied, then amended in case that word was confusing, “My friends.  He’s the one who grows the food for us.”

Maximoff’s expression did not clear, and his brow furrowed as he considered.  “ _Four,_ ” he said finally.  “ _Not five.  Steve, Bruce, Tony, Clint.  Four._ ”

“No, there are five of us.  Steve, Bruce, Tony, Clint, and Thor.”

The younger man gave him a look that made Steve want to both laugh and cry with just how _human_ it was.  His whole face screamed that Steve was an idiot if he thought Maximoff was going to fall for that.

“ _Four,_ ” he insisted, and before Steve could open his mouth to argue, there were images in his head.  Images from their first entry into the base.  Men in spacesuits, two in the hall, two in the main room, all frozen in place.  Steve realized that this must be what the world looked like when Maximoff used his powers: the whole world stopped in a moment with only him able to move through it normally.

When the images faded, he explained, “Bruce wasn’t with us that first time.  He stayed outside.  That was me and Thor in the hall and Tony and Clint in the main room.”  He offered a smile and finished, “There are five of us, I promise.  If you want, you can scan my memories, and I’ll show you.”

He expected the other to take him up on the offer, but surprisingly, Maximoff’s face fell a little and he shook his head.  “ _No.  Thank you, Steve.  But Pietro not strong enough._ ”  And before Steve could say anything else, he turned and left the doorway, moving further down the hall.

Steve followed him.  He wanted to apologize -- clearly, he had upset the other man -- but he didn’t know how.  So he simply moved on to the next room and tried to forget the awkwardness that now existed between them.

The next room was definitely strange.  It looked like a school gym with a polished floor and padded walls, but a section of it had been enclosed as if for spectators with one-way glass and a heavy metal door.  Steve pulled the door open and went inside to find several chairs and a simple control panel that seemed to operate the various cameras in the room.

“What is this place?” he asked as he leaned up against the glass and looked out at the empty space before him.

“ _Tests._ ”

Steve spun to face Maximoff and found him huddled against a wall of the enclosure with his arms around his middle and his eyes gazing out that same one-way window.  He looked haunted and alone.

“Tests,” Steve echoed, taking a few steps closer to him.  Gently, he asked, “Did they bring you here to run tests on you?  I thought they did that in the lab upstairs.”

Maximoff shook his head.  “ _Not me.  Wanda.  Wanda and Leader.  Wanda and Natasha.  Wanda and others.  Others who died.  They brought Wanda here.  Made her fight.  Tested her strength._ ”

“Made her fight.  They pitted all of you against each other to test your abilities?  See how strong you were?  Is that right?”  When the other man nodded, he turned back to the console and began to examine in it more detail.  With all these cameras, there had to be recordings somewhere, and they hadn’t found anything like that in their data dumps so far.  “How did they control the combatants?” he asked as he worked, more to himself than to Maximoff.  “Surely they didn’t just let you out of your restraints and hope for the best.  They had to have a way to get you in here and then get you back to the lab without putting themselves in danger.  If we can find that and if it’s psychic in any way, we might be able to turn it against them.”

“ _Don’t know,_ ” Maximoff said, and the sadness in his voice made Steve stop his search and turn to him.  “ _They never brought me.  Only Wanda._ ”

Silently, Steve cursed himself.  The younger man had been upset for some time now, and Steve had been ignoring it.  He barely knew Maximoff, and he certainly didn’t know all of the horrors the young man had endured, but he couldn’t let that lack of understanding keep him from following what his heart wanted anymore.

“Pietro,” he said, crossing to the other man until they were within touching distance.  “Are you okay?  Is something wrong?  Can I help?”

Surprised, Maximoff blinked at him for a moment; then that tired young face melted into a small smile.  “ _Steve_ ,” he replied.  “ _You kind.  Bruce kind.  But no.  You cannot help._ ”

“Well, can you talk about it?” Steve insisted, trying to channel Wilson and his counseling skills.  “Sometimes just sharing it with another person can help.  Relieve some of the burden from your shoulders.”  When the other man simply looked down and refused to meet his eye, Steve took a minute to run through everything they had talked about leading up to this.  “Wait a minute,” he said a moment later.  “You said they only brought Wanda here to test her.  Why not you?”  He resisted the urge to take the other by the shoulder as he asked, “Was there a reason?”

A rustling rippled through Steve’s head as Pietro sighed.  “ _Yes_ ,” the answer came.  As if giving up, Maximoff dropped his arms and lifted his head to stare at Steve, his expression resigned.  “ _I weak, Steve.  I failure.  They did not test me because I not worth testing._ ”

Something in Steve’s heart twisted.  Yes, the Chitauri had declared Maximoff a failed experiment and had planned to terminate him because of it, but no one should ever have to feel themselves a failure.  “What are you talking about?” he argued.  “You aren’t a failure.  You’re just as amazing as the others.”

Maximoff rolled his eyes at him, again giving Steve mixed feelings about how human he looked in spite of his ordeals.  “ _I run fast,_ ” he argued back.  “ _So what?  My mind weak.  Wanda and Natasha can feel your mind on first floor from lowest floor.  I can barely feel it on same floor.  When I with Wanda, I can feel through two floors, maybe three.  My mind weak.  I weak._ ”

“So what?  I’ll tell you so what,” Steve pressed.  “You don’t just run fast, Pietro.  You run so fast you’re _invisible_.  You are the perfect scout, able to get intel without ever being seen.  And you have been the first line of defense for your group the whole time we’ve been here.  Who was the first one of you I met?  You.  And why?  Because you have the ability to make contact without having to worry about your safety.  And every time someone has needed to be extracted quickly, you’ve been the one to do it.  Without you, your group would be in much more danger and would have to resort to violence far more often to keep themselves safe.”

Maximoff bit his lip and looked away, clearly not convinced.  “ _That thing you asked me to do.  I cannot do it.  I can see your mind and I can give you sights from my mind, but I cannot enter your mind like Leader and Natasha and Wanda can.  I cannot ride your thoughts and see from your eyes._ ”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that,”  Steve assured him, offering a comforting smile.  “The four of you are a team, just like my friends and I are a team.  And members of a team don’t have to all have the same strengths.  Those who are strong in one area cover those who are weak in that area, and those who are weak in that area are strong in a different one and cover for someone else.  That’s how a team works.  That’s what makes it successful.  So yeah, you might have fewer abilities with your mind than your sister does, but you make up for it in other ways.”

Finally, Maximoff smiled, looking at Steve with a soft gratitude. “ _Thank you, Steve,_ ” he said, his voice quiet in Steve’s mind but no longer sad.  “ _You really are a kind man.  I am not sure I believe your words, but I will remember them and try to accept them_.”

Steve beamed at him and was about to reply when something pinged in his head.  He blinked, stunned, and then asked, carefully, “Could you repeat that?”

The other man tipped his head to the side, confused, but he dutifully repeated, “ _I said I am not sure I believe your words, but I will remember them and try to accept them._ ”

Steve blinked again.  He couldn’t believe it.  This was _amazing_!  “Pietro,” he said, very slowly, “do you realize that when we were upstairs, you were speaking in proper nouns and verbs only?  And yet you just gave me a complete compound sentence with correct pronouns, prepositions, and verb conjugation?”  When Maximoff just stared at him, wide-eyed, he added, “I bet you’ve been having no trouble understanding what I’m saying either.  And I haven’t been trying to keep my speech slow and simple so you can keep up.”  He paused a moment, and when no response came, he asked deliberately, “So have you?  Been having trouble understanding me?”

“ _No_ ,” Maximoff answered, his eyes still wide and his expression utterly dumbfounded.

Gently, Steve reached out a hand and closed the distance between them, taking Maximoff by the shoulder.  “You may not be able to do the same things with your mind that the others can,” he said, smiling, “but that doesn’t mean it’s weak.  Because it’s fast.  Just like the rest of you.”

Shining blue eyes met his own as Maximoff grinned brightly.  “ _I suppose it is._ ”  He paused a moment, looking thoughtful, before asking, “ _You know what else?_ ”

“No, what?”

“ _Wanda is going to be so jealous._ ”


	8. Chapter 8

Pietro’s head was full of words, words, slova, noises, sounds, zvuki, shumy, words.  It didn’t hurt -- ache, bol, prichinit bol -- but it was distracting, confusing, otvlekayushchiy, sbivayet s tolku.  Gently, he held Wanda against him and tried to just breathe, dyshat, to clear his mind of all the words but one.

Wanda.  Wanda.  Wanda.  He formed it in his mind over and over again.  It gave him peace, almost as much as the feel of her body against his, the touch of her mind in his own even as she slept.  Wanda.  Wanda.  Sister Wanda.  Sestra Wanda.  Sestrenka.  Wanda.

He had returned to the fire room after seeing Steve back to the floor above them.  Wanda had fallen asleep in his absence, and while she had woken briefly when he settled beside her, she had quickly gone back to sleep, curled against his side.  He had thought about waking her again to tell her how listening to Steve had caused the words in his head to snap to attention and fall into place, but he had decided to let her be and tell her later.  Now, he was glad he had.  Without Steve to give him focus, the words had fallen into disarray, bouncing about his head.  Everything his eyes fell on had at least two words, often more, and they jumped up and demanded to be noticed in spite of his desire to relax.

It was very tiring, utomitel'nyy, iznuritel'nyy, exhausting.

Across the room, their Leader -- commander, kapitan, lider -- stirred in his sleep, and Natasha, ever watching over him, went still until he settled again.  His cheek resting against the top of Wanda’s head, Pietro gazed at the man-chelovek and woman-zhenshchina across from him thoughtfully.  He hadn’t realized it at first, but some of the words that danced in his head were different, special, osobyy.  Wanda, Pietro, Natasha, Bruce, Steve, Tony, Clint, Thor.  They were special words.  They were names.  Imen.  Nazvaniya.  Everyone had one.

Except their Leader.  He didn’t have a name.  And that sparked something in Pietro that he had felt many times since Bruce and Steve had arrived but for which he hadn’t had a word until now:

Lyubopytstvo.  Curiosity.

Why was their Leader the only one without a name?  What exactly was a name?  Who gave them?  How could they get one for their Leader?  Not that the man would care, just like Natasha didn’t care, but Pietro liked names.  He wanted their Leader to have one like everyone else.

Again, he felt the urge to wake Wanda up and ask for her help, assistance, pomogite, but he fought it.  Steve had told him that his mind was fast.  Bystro.  He could do this.  He could figure this out on his own.

Concentrating as best he could through the waves of words, Pietro searched through his memories-vospominaniya.  At the time, his mind had still hurt from the echoes of the fire that had burned them, but he remembered the way Bruce had known even before they had that they were Pietro and Wanda.  Their names had been what had ignited the fire-ogon’ in their minds, and that meant that Steve had known them, too.  How?  How had Steve and Bruce known something so important about them that they had not?

Dal'she nazad.  Further back.  What could he remember from when Steve had first appeared?  He hadn’t been able to understand the words yet, hadn’t realized the sounds meant special things, but he could remember the thoughts they had all had.  That very first time, Steve had said something that sparked the fires in Wanda’s mind.  So Steve had known who they were before they had even met?  It seemed impossible, nevozmozhno, nelepyy, ridiculous.

More memories.  Sorting through them.  Looking for resheniya.  Answers.  

Leader had met with Steve next and then again with Steve and Bruce.  And in that meeting …

Pietro’s eyes widened as he remembered.  In that meeting, their Leader had grown angry and hurt Bruce because Bruce had shown him a picture of Wanda’s face.  Steve and Bruce and the others had pictures!  Kartinki!  And Bruce had said that they had found those pictures here with the other things that those who had hurt them had kept.  It made perfect sense: those who hurt them were always writing things down, moving their fingers against what Pietro now knew was a part of a computer.  Steve and Bruce and the others must have found their names there.

So the ones who had hurt them had given them names?  But then why did their Leader not have one?  And why would those who hurt them give Pietro a name but not their Leader when Pietro was a failure and their Leader was not.  No, not a failure, Steve had said.  Not a failure.  But those who hurt them had thought he was, so why did he have a name?  Eto ne imeyet smysla.  It didn’t make sense.

His head hurt.  Tired, he closed his eyes and turned his face to bury his nose in Wanda’s hair.  Sadness crept over him as he wondered if Steve had been wrong and he really was a failure.  What did it matter that his mind was fast if he still couldn’t figure anything out?  No, no, he couldn’t think like that.  Wanda would be upset with him if he gave up.  Steve would, too.  It was okay if he couldn’t get it right away as long as he kept trying.  After all, he was only human.

Human.  He was … human?

What was human?

xXx

Gently, Bruce toweled at his wet hair as he shuffled into the main sleeping area from the over-large bathroom.  He felt so much better this morning after a good night’s sleep.  Not surprisingly, fearing for one’s life multiple times in one day and having an episode on top of that had drained him almost completely dry.  Once Rogers and Stark had left, he had barely had enough energy to drag himself up the stairs and into the hammock he had chosen for himself.  He didn’t even remember falling asleep it had happened so fast.

Leaving the towel to hang about his neck, he rooted through his supplies for a protein bar and a bottle of water before settling down on the ground next to his laptop.  He ate half of the bar as it booted up and then immediately dove into an analysis of the brain scans they had done yesterday, the other half of the bar hanging out of his mouth, forgotten.  Winter’s scan severely troubled him, so he started with that one.  More disturbing than the chronic pain was the fact that the wall blocking his memories was showing signs of breaking.  Bruce knew he could administer drugs to lessen the pain -- assuming the others let him close enough to the man to inject him with anything -- but blocking the pain signals wouldn’t help with the tissue damage that was likely to occur.  If he could figure out a way to break the wall slowly, minimize the damage done at one time, he could make sure the surrounding tissue had enough time to heal between breakages so that there would be no permanent damage.  Alternately, if he could figure out what was causing the tissue to react in the first place, he might be able to counteract that as well.

He lost track of time as he worked, focused completely on the task in front of him.  The scans they had taken the day before, his and Stark’s notes on previous research into Chitauri biology and their psychic connection, as well as the Chitauri’s research notes on what they had done to the humans they had captured -- everything mingled and mixed in his mind as he searched for answers.  How the walls had gone up.  How they could be brought down.  Why it caused the subject pain.  What physical damage had been done or could be done to the brain.  What other risks there might be in relation to the heart, respiratory system, nervous system, and other vital organs.

Stark messaged him at some point, requesting a video connection, but Bruce knew that, as well as they worked together, right now he needed to concentrate.  He refused the video, but sent Stark enough text messages to appease the other man and also to let the rest of the _Avenger_ crew know that he was all right.  He had missed every check-in with the bridge that he had been scheduled to make, but as of yet, Rogers had not called him on it.  The captain must have known that he and Stark were working and considered that enough reassurance to let it go.  Bruce was inordinately grateful for the other man’s thoughtfulness.

Eventually, Bruce realized that his head was pounding and that he should probably take a break.  Reluctantly, he set the laptop aside, finished the now-stale protein bar, and drained the rest of the water.  He was contemplating crawling back into the hammock for a nap when Wanda’s voice appeared in his head.

“ _Bruce?  Can Wanda and Pietro visit?_ ”

Surprised and pleased, Bruce smiled to himself as he answered, “Of course you can.”

In the next instant, the twins appeared at the door to the sleeping quarters, Pietro carrying Wanda in his arms.  Bruce picked himself off the floor to receive them as the young man gently placed his sister’s feet on the ground.  They both smiled at him, although Bruce noted they stayed in the hallway rather than come into the room with him.

“How are you two today?” he asked.

“ _Good_ ,” Wanda replied.  And Pietro added, “ _We noticed that you were busy, so we did not want to bother you._ ”

Rogers had told him how Pietro’s speech had improved, but hearing it for himself was something else entirely.  He couldn’t help the enormous grin that spread across his face as he replied, “Thank you.  That was very considerate of you.”  He motioned to his laptop and explained, “I’ve been working on how to help the four of you recover.  How to give Natasha and your Leader back their speech without causing them the same pain you two had to endure.  How is your Leader by the way?” he asked as an afterthought.  “Is he feeling better?”

“ _Yes, he is fine now_ ,” Pietro answered him.  “ _Thank you._ ”

“Of course.”

“ _Tony is better as well?  We noticed that he woke up before he and Steve left_.”

“Oh yes, Tony is fine.  A bit of a headache, he said, but this morning he’s been his old self again.  No lasting damage.”

“ _Good.  We are glad._ ”

During their conversation, Wanda had remained quiet, her head tilted to one side.  As their pleasantries ended and silence began to stretch between them, however, she pointed at Bruce and asked, “ _Why Bruce have … towel ... around neck?_ ”

Surprised, Bruce lifted his hand and found that he did indeed still have his towel from that morning around his neck.  “Oh,” he replied, falteringly slightly.  “I didn’t realize I still had this.  I washed up this morning, and then I guess I just forgot it was there.”  Embarrassed, he pulled it from his neck and then realized that he had nowhere to put it, ending up holding it in his hands and feeling stupid.

“ _Washed_ ,” Pietro echoed him, his brow furrowing for a moment.  “ _Ah!  With water.  To wash is to get clean._ ”

“Um, yes.”

This caught Wanda’s interest, and she turned her head to catch her brother’s eye.  “ _Like before_ ,” she said excitedly.  “ _With … with the towel.  And water.  Wash face feels nice._ ”

“ _That is true,_ ” Pietro agreed.  “ _It did._ ”

Wanda’s bright eyes turned to him, and Bruce knew exactly what she was going to say.  “ _Bruce think … Do you think Wanda and Pietro … can wash … too?_ ”

He smiled at her.  “Of course you can.  Although,” he added, thinking a little further, “I don’t know how happy you’ll be changing back into those bodysuits once you’re done.  They look fairly dirty.  Do you have any other clothes?”

“ _Clothes?_ ” Wanda echoed him, confused, but Pietro translated by plucking at the sleeve of his bodysuit and saying, “ _Body-covers._ ”  He turned his head to Bruce and said, “ _I will be right back_.”  And then he was gone.

A moment later, he returned with an armful of bodysuits which he dumped on the floor.  To Bruce’s immense surprise, Wanda jumped and took a step back, gazing at her brother in a mixture of fear and wonder.

“ _Pietro …_ ”  Her voice quavered.

In response, he pulled her into his arms for a hug.  “ _It is easier to be brave if it is for you._ ”  He must have felt Bruce’s confusion, for he looked at him next and explained, “ _Many rooms in this place hold bad memories for us.  We do not like to go into them even if there are things there that we might need._ ”

“I understand,” Bruce told him, his voice subdued.  He gave the twins a moment to themselves before forcing a brighter note into his tone and stating, “The bathroom is this way.  You can follow me when you’re ready.”

Bruce spent the next five minutes showing the curious twins around the bathroom, explaining the difference between a shower and a bath, and giving a rundown on the proper use of soap and shampoo.  To Wanda especially, he devoted time explaining how to wash all of her long hair and warned her that brushing it would probably be painful the first few times, but the more she kept it clean, the less it would hurt.  He provided them both with towels and told them he would be right there if they had questions or needed help.

As he predicted, the twins had no concept of modesty.  They both stripped out of their frankly-disgusting bodysuits without blinking an eye and turned on adjoining showers.  Bruce guided them through finding an appropriate temperature and helped them through the initial shock of getting water in their eyes after stepping under the spray.  His mind filled with squeals and laughter as the two experimented with the water and the soap.  The doctor in him examined and catalogued all the cuts and bruises he could now see on their naked bodies, but in truth he felt more like a father of toddlers than a doctor, especially when Pietro realized he could use his hands to direct his spray towards his sister.  In the end, he didn’t have to intervene except to help Wanda with the shampoo -- again, not a surprise -- although it was a close thing more than once.

When they had finished and were dried off and happy in new bodysuits, Bruce used his own grooming kit to brush and trim Pietro’s hair and shave his face.  The trust that the young man showed him absolutely floored Bruce.  Here he was with multiple sharp objects, moving about Pietro’s neck and behind his body, and the young man barely flinched.  True, Wanda watched him carefully the entire time and he could feel her mind anchored firmly in his, but they all knew that Bruce could kill Pietro before any of them could act.  It flooded Bruce with emotion, nearly overwhelming him, and he willed his hands not to shake as they worked.

Once he finished with Pietro, Bruce turned to Wanda to offer to brush her hair as well, but the young man to whom he had just tended jumped up and plucked the brush from his hand with a grin.

“ _I will do it!_ ”

“Okay,” he replied, stepping back to give them room.  “But be careful of those knots.  Don’t pull too hard.”

Pietro nodded and settled behind his sister, a look of concentration falling over his face as he began to slide the brush through her hair.

Bruce sat on the edge of a tub and watched, contentment filling him from head to toe.  He had so much respect for these two.  They were so resilient, so brave, so full of energy and wonder and love.  He could barely imagine the horrors they had endured, knew that if he had been the one to experience them, he would have been closed off and untrusting, scared of his own shadow.  Rather like Natasha and Winter were, although even they had more strength and courage than Bruce thought he would have had.  And yet here the Maximoffs were, excited about every new thing, taking joy in the simple pleasure of being clean.  Smiling and laughing like the children they were.

His heart positively ached with his need to help them, to give them everything he possibly could.

“ _Bruce, can I ask you a question?_ ”

Pietro still had all of his attention on his task, but Bruce could hear the gravity in the young man’s tone.

“Of course,” he replied.  “Any of you can ask me anything, and I’ll answer to the best of my ability.”

“ _Okay_.”  He paused a moment, concentrating on a particularly nasty snarl of hair before continuing, “ _I have many words in my head now.  Too many words.  I understand many of them, but some of them I do not understand._ ”

Bruce nodded.  It made sense that the return of their speech was not one-hundred percent smooth.  “I’ll be happy to define or explain anything you don’t understand.”

“ _Thank you_.”  Pietro raised his eyes to look briefly at Bruce, but his blue gaze quickly dipped again, hiding an expression that suddenly put Bruce on edge.  He realized too late that he had walked into a trap as the young man across from him asked his question.

“ _What is ‘human’?_ ”

Bruce swallowed, his stomach plummeting through the floor.  _Oh shit._

“Human?” he echoed, his mind desperately trying to come up with an answer that would sound benign.  Unfortunately, what he heard himself saying was “That’s what we call the species that Steve and Tony and I belong to.  Our species is called humans.  The species that captured you, they’re called Chitauri.  There are lots of other species, too.  For instance, on our world we have --”

“ _What about us, Bruce?_ ” Pietro interrupted him, his hands still moving through Wanda’s hair, his eyes on his task.  Wanda’s eyes, on the other hand, were fixed on Bruce like soft brown spotlights.  “ _What about Wanda and Natasha and our Leader and me?  Are we human, too?_ ”

Bruce swallowed again, unable to answer.

“ _We … look like … you_ ,” Wanda said slowly, her words dripping ice down his spine.  “ _We know … how … to talk … like you.  We … are different … but … we are … the same._ ”

“Your speech has improved, Wanda,” Bruce whispered to her.

“ _That is because I am helping her_ ,” Pietro interjected, a grin creeping into his lips.  Wanda threw an elbow backwards and caught him in the stomach before continuing.

“ _Yesterday … you and Tony … with the pictures … you said memories.  We have memories … that are … dark?  Dark memories._ ”

“ _Memories that are hidden_ ,” Pietro took over for her.  “ _Like the speech.  We did not know how to speak to you until there was pain.  A barrier breaking, you said.  And there is another barrier in our mind.  And behind it is memories._ ”  Finally, he put the brush aside and, with a hand on his sister’s shoulder, met Bruce’s eyes directly.  “ _Are they memories of when we were human?  Are we human, Bruce?_ ”

He felt trapped.  Pinned by their gentle yet piercing gazes.  This was his fault.  He had been careless, dropping words in front of them and counting on them not to understand.  Yes, they acted young, like newborn children, and were simple in their pleasures and pursuits, but he had forgotten that simple did not mean stupid.

“I …”  he tried, his throat working soundlessly.  “I … I … I can’t.”

Both Maximoffs frowned at him, but with sadness, not with anger.  “ _Do you … not trust us, Bruce?_ ” Wanda asked him, the hurt clear in her voice.

“I do!” he protested immediately.  “Of course I do.  But ....”  He took a deep breath, forced it out.  “I can’t tell you anything because I don’t know how you’ll react to it.  I have no idea how that first barrier in your minds broke.  If something I say breaks the second one … I’m scared.  I’m scared it will hurt you so badly that you won’t recover.”

When the twins just blinked at him, he gestured wildly towards the other room and babbled, “That’s why I’m working so hard to figure out what happened.  I want to tell you everything, but I have to know how things get triggered so I can control how much damage it does.  I want to do this without hurting anyone.  I can’t take the chance that something I tell you will set it off before I’m ready.”  Dejectedly, he let his arms drop to his sides and finished with a soft, “I’m sorry.”

For several long, terrible minutes, they sat in unmoving silence.  Then, as one, the twins got to their feet.  Their faces were sad; Wanda looked like she was about to cry.

“ _We understand_ ,” Pietro told him, his voice controlled and even.  “ _We will go now, and we will not bother you again._ ”

“What?” Bruce said, the word falling from his startled lips.  They had begun moving to the door, so he got to his feet and called after them, “Wait!  You don’t have to go!  You aren’t bothering me.”

They stopped moving but did not look back at him as Pietro answered, “ _If there is danger in our speaking with you, then our Leader does not want us here.  He has told us to come back.  We will stay away until you are finished with your work_.”

“But!” he gasped, disoriented by how quickly everything had gone south.  “But I need you _for_ my work!  I’ll need to take some more scans.  Do a few minor tests to make sure that my theories are correct.  If I can’t see you until I’m done, there will be no way to know that it will work!”

Both Maximoffs had winced at the word “tests”, but they recovered as bravely as they did everything else.  “ _Let us know when you need us_ ,” Pietro told him.  “ _Our Leader will choose one of us to come depending on what you need.  Goodbye, Bruce._ ”

“ _Goodbye, Bruce_ ,” Wanda echoed.  She looked back at him one last time, unable to resist, and then they were both gone.

Stunned and oddly heartbroken, Bruce just stared at the space where they had been for at least five minutes.  Then, he wandered over to his hammock and climbed into it on auto-pilot.  He lay back, threw one arm over his eyes, and let himself sink into the guilt that clawed at him from the depths of his stomach.

What had just happened?  And more importantly, what was he going to do now?

xXx

Clint hated mornings.  He hated them planetside with that bright light and the damp grass and those _stupid_ birds.  And he hated them in space with those dark windows and the complete lack of decent breakfast food.  Of course, the worst thing about mornings was that they were just so damn _early_.  Whose idea had it been anyway to start mornings before noon?

“Good morning, Friend Barton!  How are you on this beautiful start of a new day?”

“Morning, Lieutenant.  Looking kind of pale there.  Maybe you should spend some time in the gym and get your blood flowing.”

The other thing Clint hated about mornings was the existence of Morning People.  People like his captain and second-in-command.  So loud and cheerful and annoying.  He made some sort of grunting sound in response to their joint greetings and hung his head further towards his bowl of oatmeal and dried fruit.  Thankfully they got the gist and moved away to have their own breakfast at a different table.  If they had sat down with him, Clint probably would have upended the bowl of oatmeal on one of their stupid blond heads.

It had been four days since they had blown up the Chitauri warship sent to check up on the base.  Three days since discovering that Natasha Romanov was one of the human experiments in needs of rescue, and two days since she and the other three had retreated to the bottom basement with a bunch of supplies and a standing warning to keep the hell away.  Clint, Rogers, and Odinson had been over every inch of the other six floors of that base, searching for anything that would help Stark and Banner with their research.  They had found several other external hard drives, most of which had been hidden in a closet near the giant testing room, but while the extra information had helped the two scientists some, it hadn’t been nearly enough.

The trouble, Stark had explained the previous evening during a status meeting in the conference room, was the triggers.  The Chitauri had put those barriers up by tying them to specific triggers as anchor points.  The triggers that put the walls up were the same ones that could bring them back down again.  For the speech centers, they were words or, more likely, combinations of words.  For the memory sections, they were most likely specific memories.  With the triggers, Stark and Banner had been confident that they could figure out how to bring the barriers safely down in a matter of days.  Without them, it would take them weeks if not months.

They didn’t have months or weeks.  It was possible they didn’t even have days.  And while the Maximoffs had been speech-triggered by each other's name, names clearly hadn’t worked on Natasha.  As for the memories, no one had any idea where to even start looking.

Clint shoved a spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth and chewed slowly.  A table away, Rogers and Odinson were talking quietly, but not so quietly that Clint couldn’t overhear, even with his muddled morning brain.

“If I could just convince them to come on-board the ship.  Then Bruce and Tony could take as long as they needed.  We could section off a part of the ship just for them.  Let them hide out there while we got the hell out of this sector.”

“It certainly would be an ideal solution.   _If_ you could convince them to come aboard.  And for that, you would first need to convince Winter to speak with you at all.”

Rogers sighed heavily, and Clint could see without looking the frown on his captain’s face.  Rogers had tried several times in the past two days to get Winter to come have a conversation with him; all of the man’s attempts had been met with cold silence.

“I don’t know what to do, Thor,” the captain admitted after a long pause.  “I don’t want to admit it, but I honestly don’t have the first clue what to do.  Wait, yes, but for how long?”  Echoes of desperate anger rose in his voice as he asked, “How long until I have to decide whether we leave them to die or stay and die with them?  _God!_ ”  The sound of flesh meeting table as his hand came down.  “If we only knew how many they were sending.  Where they are now.  When they’re going to get here.  We could devise some sort of strategy.  It probably wouldn’t work, but at least I wouldn’t feel so fucking _useless_!”

Odinson said something in reply, something low and soothing, but Clint tuned him out as the neurons in his brain began to fire.  Slowly, pieces of a plan began to take shape.  While the option had always been there, he hadn’t considered it before now for reasons of security.  But in his last communication with HQ, Fury had acknowledged the seriousness of the mission and altered his parameters.  He now had the clearance to reveal classified information -- to Rogers only -- as the situation warranted.  At his own discretion.  

Right now, more than anything else in the universe, his “discretion” wanted Natasha safe.

Clint got to his feet, leaving his half-eaten bowl of oatmeal on the table, and strode over to his captain.  Rogers saw him coming and schooled his face into a convincing copy of a friendly smile.

“What’s up, Clint?” the other man asked as he reached the table.

“Captain,” he replied formally.  “May I speak with you for a moment?  In private,” he added when Rogers looked like he was going to tell him to go ahead.

Odinson, smart man that he was, rose from his chair before Rogers could respond.  Smiling, he picked up his empty breakfast plates and announced, “I will be on the bridge if you need me.  Farewell, gentlemen.”  He strode out of the mess like some ancient prince.  All he needed was a cape swishing behind him.  Clint couldn’t help but watch him go, shaking his head in mild amusement.

When he turned back to Rogers, he found his captain had risen as well and was staring at him expectantly, his arms crossed lightly over his chest.  Clint realized that, in his still half-muddled state, he hadn’t bothered to figure out how he was going to broach this subject with the other man.  So he threw caution to the wind and went with the direct route.

“I can hack the Chitauri communications array.  If there’s enough data still on the machines in the base, I can get in and listen in on their ship-to-ship communication.  I can find out how many ships are coming and how far out they are.”

Rogers went very still.  For a long time, he didn’t move, didn’t even blink.  Just stared like a damn statue.  Clint was starting to think that perhaps the direct route hadn’t been the best idea after all when finally his lips moved very slightly and quiet, calm words slid through.

“Say that again.”

Clint took a breath, preparing to repeat himself, when Rogers interrupted him with, “No, wait.  Don’t bother.”  He uncrossed his arms and straightened to his full height, his eyes cold and still staring.  “No one has managed to hack the communications grid yet,” he accused.  “They’ve been trying for years.  No one has succeeded.”

“That’s the official story,” Clint told him with a nod.  “But it’s like Enigma, right?  From World War II?  They actually cracked it about a year ago, but only a few people know so that the Chitauri don’t realize it’s been cracked.”

“And you’re one of the people who know,” Rogers stated.  There was something menacing in his voice now.  Clint didn’t blame him.  He was used to people not liking him.  Spies weren’t usually popular with authority figures.

“I am.”

“And you didn’t tell me before now because … ?”

Clint huffed slightly.  Rogers should have been able to figure that one out on his own.  Maybe he just wanted Clint to say it himself.  “Because it’s classified.  I work for Fury, Rogers.  Not the army.  I’m happy to tell you anything I know that’s been cleared, but this was considered need-to-know only.  And before now, you didn’t need to know.”

Rogers shut his eyes, his jaw working silently.  Clint felt the guilt start to eat at him as he waited for the other man to compose himself.  He had grown to respect and truly like Rogers in the time they had spent as crewmembers.  Unfortunately, he had been Fury’s man for decades, his eyes and ears since before the war.  That lifestyle and all its secrets were an ingrained part of him now.  He could work with these men, care for them even, but he would never really be one of them.

“Second Lieutenant Barton,” Rogers began, but he stopped again almost immediately, his eyes opening to glare at Clint hotly.  “Are you even a Lieutenant?” he demanded.

Shrugging, Clint replied offhandedly, “The equivalent of.  We don’t use army ranks, but yeah.  Sort of.”

“Fine,” the captain grit out, continuing, “Second Lieutenant Barton, you are confined to quarters until further notice.  Your meals will be brought to you.  You are not to leave your quarters unless given express permission by me, do you understand?”

“What?”  Clint’s mouth fell open in stunned disbelief.  This was not what he had expected, and certainly not what he had wanted.  “Why?”

“Why?” Rogers echoed with barely concealed rage.  “Because you’re a threat, Clint!  I have a Chitauri fleet approaching with no way to prepare for battle or request backup, four semi-hostile civilians to rescue within a tight deadline, and three crewmembers to keep safe for the duration of the situation.  And now I learn that one of my men is in fact _not_ my man.  I have no idea what else you’ve been hiding from me, I can’t predict your actions, and I have no assurance that you will follow any order you’ve been given.  You are an unpredictable factor in an already extremely tense situation, but thankfully you are an unpredictable factor that I can contain.  Therefore, you are _confined to quarters_ until further notice!”

“I … I …”  This was a disaster.  How could he help from his quarters?  How could he protect Natasha if no one would listen to him?  “How can you say I won’t follow orders?” he protested.  “I’ve been following your orders this whole time!”

“Because Fury clearly told you to,” the other man shot back.  “And when he tells you something different?  What will you do then?”  Clint must have paled, for Rogers pressed, “I have absolutely no assurance from one day to the next that you’re still following my orders.  Do you expect me to believe that you’re going to _tell_ me when Fury orders you to follow some other agenda?  I’m on a need-to-know basis, remember?  I seriously doubt planned mutiny is something on the need-to-know list.”

“I … I would never … !”

“Yes, you would!”  And now every word coming out of Rogers’s mouth was a cutting blade, slicing through Clint’s heart, because he was right.  Clint knew he was right, and he couldn’t do anything but stand there and take the beating he so rightfully deserved.  “You just told me exactly who you work for.  Not me.  Not the army.  By all rights I should arrest you and send you back to Earth for posing as a military officer.  You should never have even been on this ship!”

“Stark’s not military,” he tried, but it was a pathetic attempt at a rebuttal.  Rogers barely had to breathe before he was tearing it down.

“Stark was fully vetted.  Investigated and interviewed for months!  He formally swore that he would respect my authority and follow my orders before dozens of high-ranking military officers.  You went through none of that.  I have _nothing_ to assure me that you aren’t going to turn on us during a crucial moment or even a non-crucial one.  God _dammit_ , Barton, you’re our fucking _navigator!_  How the hell do I know you won’t fly us straight into a trap?”

Clint swallowed thickly, his gaze falling to his feet.  His hands trembled as they hung loosely at his side.  He had made a terrible mistake.  He had blown his cover and in the process lost the trust of his current commanding officer.  No, Steve was more to him than just that.  He was a friend.

“Captain,” he began, lifting his head to meet the other man’s fiery eyes, “I know that I’ve just destroyed any trust you had in me, but I swear to you that I would never betray you.  Yes, Fury sets the parameters of my missions, but right now I am sworn to follow _your_ orders.  You have my loyalty.  I would never do anything to jeopardize your current mission, the lives of this crew, or the lives of anyone you deemed worthy of protection.”

Rogers continued to stare at him, unconvinced.  “And if your mission changes?  What then?  Your parameters reset, right?  Can you still swear to me that I will have your loyalty?”

Clint swallowed again.  “It won’t change,” he breathed, wishing with everything he had that it wasn’t a lie.

“You don’t know that,” the captain countered, seeing right through him.  “You can’t see the future.  You have absolutely no idea what Fury will tell you to do until the orders are in front of you.  And once they’re in front of you, you have to follow them.”

“Steve …”

The change took him completely by surprise.  One moment, he was gazing steadily at his angry captain; the next he was looking at a man with the same face but with a completely unknown demeanor.  This stranger-in-Rogers’s-body stood up tall with his arms behind his back, exuding an authority and confidence that he had only ever seen in one other man.  The similarity made Clint shiver.

“Agent Barton,” Rogers intoned, even his voice taking on that condescending tone that he knew so well, “your mission has changed.  You are no longer to pose as the navigator of the _Avenger_.  Your new mission is to assassinate Captain Steven Grant Rogers.”

Clint’s blood ran cold.  No, this wasn’t happening.  This wasn’t fair.  How could Rogers do this to him?  How could he stand there and, in a freakishly good imitation of Fury’s voice, order his own assassination?

“Do you understand your mission, agent?”  When Clint didn’t respond, Rogers barked, “Agent Barton!”

“Understood, sir.”  The words just slipped from him on automatic.  He couldn’t have stopped them if he had tried.

“Good.”  And as Clint watched, Rogers slipped the blaster from the holster around his waist, unclipped the energy pack so that the gun wouldn’t actually fire, and slid the weapon across the table towards him.  His words were like lead in Clint’s ears as he ordered, “Proceed with your mission, agent.”

Dumbly, Clint’s hand closed around the pistol even as he shook his head back and forth.  “I can’t.  Steve, don’t do this.”

“Do you have some problem with your mission, Agent Barton?” the reply came, cold and impersonal.

“Why are you doing this?  What are you trying to accomplish with this?”

“Fulfill your mission, agent.”

“This isn’t going to solve anything.  This isn’t going to _prove_ anything!”

“Agent Barton!   _Fulfill your mission!_ ”

Something snapped in his mind.  His body reacted on its own, his feet shifting into the proper stance, his body turning into alignment, and his hand snapping up to point the blaster directly between Rogers’s eyes.  His breathing slowed, his mind blanked, his focus sharpened.  The mission was kill.  The target was before him, in his sights.  All he had to do was pull the trigger.

But.

_Fulfill your mission._

But.

_Fulfill ..._

No.

The mission.  The target.

_Mission …_

The target was Steve.

And Clint knew in that moment that, even if the order did come for real, he would never be able to kill Steve Rogers.

Hand shaking, he lowered the gun again.  “No,” he said, his voice managing to crack on that single word.  “No, I won’t.  Even if he orders it.  I won’t.  Not ever.”

For several minutes, they just stood there, Rogers dissecting him with his intense blue gaze.  Eventually, the captain held out his hand for his blaster and Clint gave it to him, but even then the silence continued.  Finally, Rogers sighed gently and commented, “I’m still not sure I can trust you.”

“I know,” Clint told him sadly.  “And I don’t know what I can do or say to change that.”  He hung his head slightly and scratched a hand through his hair.  After a moment of thought, he ventured, “Do you think you’d be okay with me hacking into that grid, though?  So you guys can have some warning?”

“Maybe,” Rogers replied, the corners of his lips lifting into a small smile.  And that would have to be enough for now.

“Okay.  Let me know.”  He guiltily slid his eyes to the door to the mess and said, “Guess I should head off to my quarters then.”  He threw the other man a look, hoping that Rogers would tell him that that wasn’t necessary anymore, but it didn’t surprise him in the slightest when he got no such response.

Being confined to quarters wouldn’t be so bad, he tried to tell himself as he walked to the door.  He could get lots of rest.  Read.  Play the video games that Stark had installed.  And if he got really bored, JARVIS was always willing to engage any of them in conversation.  It would be like a vacation.  Just one where he couldn’t leave his room.

With one foot in the hallway, Clint stilled.  A vacation.  They were all technically on vacation.  For a whole month.  Slowly, he turned back to his captain.

“We’re on leave, right?” he verified.

Rogers nodded at him.  “Yes, that’s right.”

“For a month?”

“Yes.”

Clint let his shoulders relax and his face soften into a smile.  “So if we’re on leave, then I have no reason to check my messages.  I mean, why would I?  What’s the point of vacation if you keep working, right?”

His captain blinked at him, not understanding, so Clint gave him a little more help.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.  Think I’ll just fall off the grid for a month.”

And _there_.  The gears clicked into place, and Rogers smiled a full smile that brightened his face and crinkled his eyes.

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, I think so soon.  See you later, Captain.”

Feeling much better, Clint left the mess and headed down the hall to his quarters, certain that he wouldn’t be spending nearly as much time there as he had first thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used Google translate for the Russian, which we all know is not infallible, so if you speak the language and see any glaring errors, feel free to let me know.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit on the short side, but the next one is already written, just needs to be proofread and prepped, so you can expect it in a few days. I am estimating three chapters after that at which point I will be taking a break to get the next section of the story sorted in my mind. Thank you to everyone who has read this far.

Forty-two hours.  That’s how long the crew of the _Avenger_ had to convince the four telepaths to leave the base.  Any longer than that and they ran the risk of leaving a trail that the ten Chitauri warships that were on their way could follow.  And ten was too many, even if they ran.  No Earth force had ever taken out that number before.  Stark wasn’t even sure that the psychic jammer had the range to take that many out of commission at once.

The bright side, if there was one, was that by trying to get Barton to snap and faux-assassinate him, Steve had given the other man the idea to use his Fury-impression on Romanov to see if that would activate her speech trigger.  It seemed as good an idea as any, and so they were all here, with only forty-two hours left, preparing for their first major test since Banner and Stark had thrown themselves into their frantic research.

They had set up in the main room on the first floor again, the two scientists having taken over almost a full half of the workstations with their equipment.  Stark had no fewer than five 3D holograms floating around even before they had started.  The man himself was flitting about from console to console, babbling to JARVIS who was now linked to the base’s machines.  Remotely rather than directly installed, because “There’s no way I’m installing my baby on these dirty things!  Who knows where they’ve been?”  As for Banner, he had brought almost the entire sickbay to the planet.  Every machine that hadn’t been physically attached to the ship and far more than half of their supply of drugs.  The only things he had left behind were the bandages since any potential injuries were almost certainly going to be mental, not physical.

Steve sat in one of the two chairs set up in the center of the room, waiting patiently for things to get started.  His hands rested lightly in his lap, one of them holding onto the list of words Barton and Banner had put together for him to say.  They were in a very specific order, the doctor had told him, designed to work -- if they were going to work -- slowly enough that he could analyze the changes and prescribe countermeasures.  Steve was more than happy to put all his trust in Banner.  As for Barton …

He turned slightly in his seat to look at his navigator as the man stood beside Odinson near the entrance to the room.  Barton had his arms folded over his chest, and he was chewing on his bottom lip as he watched Stark and Banner move around and prepare.  Part of Steve still wanted to throw the other man into a cell for the duration of their mission, but he knew that wouldn’t be productive or fair.  Barton had more than made up for his past secrecy.  He had cracked the Chitauri communications as promised, giving them exact information on the size of the impending threat and how much time they had until it arrived, and privately, he had done his best to even the odds for Steve, telling him about Fury’s behind-the-scenes operations and how he, Barton, had been sent to scout Steve for recruitment as much as he had been sent to kill aliens.  It was enough to earn most of Steve’s trust back, although both men knew it would take a very long time for it to completely return.

Barton would not meet his eye, but Odinson did.  Steve smiled and nodded at his second, and the big man returned the nod with a grin of his own.  This meeting would be the first time Odinson had met the telepaths, and Steve could see the excitement in the other’s face.  The rest of them were more nervous than excited, so it was nice to see that bright emotion shining out like a beacon they all could follow.  Stark probably would have called him a sap for that analogy, but Steve didn’t particularly care.  He took strength in his friends, and for the next couple of days, he was going to need all the strength he could get.

“Captain.”

Banner’s voice.  Quiet.  Controlled.  Steve turned to him to see the man lift his chin in a gesture of indication.  When Steve followed it, keeping his movements smooth and easy, he found Winter standing in the door to the hallway.  The telepath seemed mostly at ease, but his eyes scanned the room efficiently, taking in all five of the men already there and their respective positions.  Steve could easily see him calculating threat levels and escape routes.  With a small pang of sadness, he remembered that they still had no idea who this man was, although his movements strongly suggested he had not just been a regular civilian.  A soldier then, or perhaps another of Fury’s spies.  If this meeting went well, and if their luck continued to hold, perhaps he would get the chance to find out.

Winter remained in the doorway for about half a minute before moving into the room, taking measured but steady steps towards Steve and the empty chair.  The other three telepaths filed in behind him, the Maximoffs staying near the wall while Romanov followed her leader to the center of the room.  She slipped past Winter at the last moment and slid into the chair with calm grace.  He took up a guard’s position behind her, his arms crossed and his gaze heavy as he looked over Steve’s shoulder to the doctor.  Both of them still wore those coverings that hid half of their faces.  Steve made a mental note to ask Wanda or Pietro why that was at a later point.

Banner stepped forward, taking an almost identical spot behind Steve.  “Thank you for coming,” he said.  “Did you understand my message?”

“ _You said that you think you have a way to help Natasha remember how to speak_ ,” Wanda replied.  Steve’s eyes went to her automatically, and he couldn’t help but smile at how much her speech had improved in the three days since he had seen her last.  “ _You also said if you take pictures of her mind while you do it, you can probably find a way to stop the pain._ ”

“That’s right,” the doctor nodded.  “I can’t guarantee it, and I can’t guarantee that our idea will help her remember at all, but I would like to try.  If that’s all right.”

“ _Of course it is all right_ ,” Wanda replied with a small smile on her face.

“ _We would not be here otherwise_ ,” Pietro added, an identical smile on his.

“Good.”  Banner let out a quick breath and then turned to walk to the nearest workstation.  When he returned, he held several imaging electrodes.  He held them up and asked, “Have you seen these before?”

Steve had returned his attention to the two telepaths in front of him, so he saw them both wince.

“ _Something very much like them_ ,” Pietro answered.  “ _The ones that the Chitauri used on us looked a bit different, but they are similar.  They stick on the body, correct?  The head and chest?_ ”

“Yes.”

“ _The ones the Chitauri used often caused pain_ ,” Wanda informed them.  Her voice was steady, but Steve could hear the hurt in her tone mixing with the desire to maintain her trust in them.

“These will not cause any pain,” Banner replied, the confidence in his tone clearly easing the twins’ tension.  “I will only be using them to take more pictures.  I will need to see Natasha’s mind pretty much all the time so that I can react quickly to any pain that she feels from our trying to bring her speech barrier down.  These will let me see without having to wave the scanner over her head constantly.”

The doctor paused so the Maximoffs could relay that information, and while it seemed to be enough for Winter, Steve could see the smallest bit of tightness remaining in Romanov’s shoulders.  “Bruce,” he said softly.  “Show them on me first.”

“Um …”  Banner looked at the equipment in his hands, frowning slightly.

Steve sighed and smiled at him.  “I know you brought extras.  Don’t pretend like you didn’t.”

The other man’s expression turned a bit sheepish at that, but he nodded and moved closer to Steve’s side.  A few moments later, Steve had electrodes on both temples and three going down the center of his head, one at the forehead, one at the crown, and one at the back near the bottom.  Banner motioned to Stark who proceeded to work the machines while Banner circled the hologram that had appeared, pointing out various things and explaining how it all worked in as simple terms as he could manage.  Steve kept his eyes on Romanov who was likewise watching him rather than the doctor.  He could feel the warmth of a scan in his mind, most likely hers.  Gently, he smiled at her, wanting her to believe that nothing about the process was a threat.  Slowly, her shoulders relaxed and her eyes softened.

“That’s enough,” he said once her expression had cleared.  “Thank you, Bruce.”

Banner nodded, removed all the electrodes, and then retreated to his workstation once more to get replacements.  When he returned, Winter took a step back to allow him room, and the whole process repeated, this time with Natasha.  Soon it was the image of her mind floating in the air.  She gave it a bored glance before returning her gaze to Steve.

“ _What now, Bruce?  Steve?_ ”

“Now,” Steve replied to Wanda’s question, “I’m going to say several words, one or two at a time.”  He lifted the paper so they could see.  “Bruce and Tony will watch the picture of Natasha’s mind.  If you feel any pain,” he said to her even though he knew her understanding depended on the twins’ translation, “you tell us immediately.  Hopefully it will show up in the pictures, but it might not so we need you to tell us.”

Natasha nodded as Pietro spoke for her.  “ _She understands._ ”

“Okay.”  Steve took a breath and sat a bit straighter in his chair, bringing the paper back down so he could read it.  This first round would be in his normal voice.  His imitation skills would only be brought into play if they were needed.  “Are we all ready?” he asked.

A small chorus of assents rang out across the room, echoed within his mind by the Maximoffs.  Before he began, Steve lifted his eyes to meet Winter’s gaze.  The other man had barely moved this entire time, his vigilance silent but unrelenting.  Idly, Steve realized he had never seen the leader of the telepaths this close before.  There was something oddly familiar in those intense, gray-blue eyes.

Winter nodded to him once.  Steve nodded back and dropped his gaze to the list.

“Natasha.  Natasha Romanov.”  Those words produced nothing as they had expected, but Banner and Stark had wanted to be completely thorough.  “Agent.  Agent Romanov.”

“Stop,” Stark’s voice rang out the exact second Natasha twitched and Wanda announced, “ _Natasha is in pain_.”  Steve snapped up his head to stare at the hologram as the two scientists began to talk excitedly to each other.

“Increased levels of glutamate and noradrenaline plus something I don’t recognize.”

“Looks like it’s nociceptive, like we thought.  Tissue is reacting but not badly.”

“Definitely the speech center.  You can see the activity on the scan.”

“Let me reduce the chemical levels.  See if that brings it back down again.”

Most of what the hologram was showing him made no sense to Steve, but he was able to notice the small section of Romanov’s brain that had begun to glow with a bit more red and yellow.  “Natasha,” he said, turning back to her, “how much does it hurt?”

“ _Not much_ ,” Pietro said, answering for her.  “ _She says she can bear it easily.  If you had not asked her to tell you about every pain, she would not have bothered._ ”

“ _The words ‘agent’ and ‘Romanov’ are colliding in her mind_ ,” Wanda supplied a moment later.  “ _Much like Pietro and my names did in ours.  The collisions cause a burning feeling._ ”  She smiled a little sadly at her brother and added, “ _She is far stronger than we were._ ”

“Of course she is,” Barton remarked quietly.  Odinson placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“Okay,” Banner declared, approaching them with an injection vial in hand.  He stopped several paces away and lifted it up so that it lay flat in the palms of both hands.  “I would like to give Natasha some medicine to stop the burning.  To do that, I am going to have to put this needle in her skin.  Preferably in the upper part of one of her arms although I can do the meat of her thigh if she is more comfortable with that.”

There was a long pause this time before anyone answered, and while Steve could see no visible tension in any of the telepaths, he could tell they were not thrilled with the idea.  “ _Can Steve try it first?_ ” Pietro eventually asked.  His eyes flicked over Steve’s face, looking mildly apologetic that they were trying to make him the guinea pig yet again.

“Unfortunately not,” the doctor replied with a shake of his head.  “I put this medicine together to stop the extra chemicals that are currently in Natasha’s brain.  Steve has the right amount of chemicals in his brain right now.  If I give them to him, they will stop the chemicals that he needs and it will hurt him.”

More silence met this statement.  Banner continued to stand there, patiently waiting and offering his help, while Steve did his best to look calm and confident.  If the telepaths refused this, they would not be able to do any more.  Banner had made it very clear that he would not continue any action that could endanger the telepaths’ minds or bodies.  Even if they waited for this reaction to subside, the next one could be worse.  They simply didn’t have the time to do this in baby steps.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity if not more, Romanov sat up regally and nodded her head.  Winter shifted behind her, an expression of annoyance crossing his face.  Steve was certain there had been a fierce argument in the psychic space between them, but he was far too relieved at the favorable decision to worry about it.

Banner approached her slowly but steadily.  “Thank you for trusting me,” he said.  “You will need to unzip your bodysuit so I can get to your arm.”

After what was becoming a routine pause for the requisite translation, Romanov did as he had asked, pulling the zipper all the way down to her waist and shrugging her entire left side out of the suit.  Steve pointedly examined the paper in his hand while the doctor gave her the injection, ignoring the minor bout of throat clearing and foot shuffling that happened behind him as the rest of his crew dealt with the woman’s clear ignorance of modesty.  Banner handled it with professional calm and, after he had finished, suggested to Pietro that he fetch a towel to drape over Natasha’s side.

“I may need to give her more, and we don’t want her to get cold,” he explained, although Steve knew the real reason for the suggestion.  Truthfully, he was deeply grateful for the other man’s ingenuity.  Steve had seen a breast or twenty in his time, but he didn’t exactly want one staring at him while he tried to concentrate on carefully breaking apart a dangerous psychic barrier.

Once the towel had been fetched and placed, Banner and Stark went back to analyzing their readings.  Whatever the doctor had given Romanov clearly helped.  The redness in her scan receded, and Wanda reported with wonder in her voice that the burning in the other woman’s mind had all but ceased.  After a few minutes, Banner gave Steve the go-ahead to continue reading.  Feeling the beginnings of optimism bloom in his chest, Steve did so.

“Briefing.  Debriefing.  Report.  Report for briefing.  Report for debriefing.”

He paused, looked backwards at the scan and the scientists carefully watching it.  Stark shook his head in a negative, so Steve returned his focus to the paper and kept going.

“Status.  Status report.  Report status.  Mission.  Mission report.”

“Stop.”

Steve obeyed, glancing behind him again.  The scan had lit up in the same place, once more with red and yellow.  Romanov, however, had not reacted at all.  “How are you, Natasha?” he asked her.

“ _Natasha says there is no pain_ ,” Wanda reported, “ _but there is pressure.  She says it is like something is pushing against her mind._ ”  She paused, then added, “ _The words ‘mission’ and ‘report’ have joined ‘agent’ and ‘Romanov’, but they are not colliding very much.  When they do, Natasha does not seem to feel it._ ”

“Yeah, her levels are remaining steady thanks to Doc’s happy juice,” Stark commented, his nose buried in read-outs.

“Don’t call it that,” Banner sighed as he continued his own analysis.  They chattered at each other for a few minutes, throwing scientific terms back and forth that Steve had no hope of understanding although he got the impression that it was all pretty positive.  After a brief argument, they decided that the pressure was probably being caused by the unknown third chemical that would flood Natasha’s brain with each trigger word, most likely something of Chitauri biology that they had injected to stimulate telepathy in the humans.  The doctor administered a second injection which his patient reported reduced the pressure but did not eliminate it completely.

“Good enough,” Stark opined with a wave of his hand.  “We could use some more data, though, to see if the reactions to the triggers produce the same amount of everything or if the levels increase.”  Somehow he had acquired a screwdriver and twirled it about his fingers as he ordered, “Cap, try different combos of those words.  Just three at a time.  Not all four yet.”

Steve looked to Banner for confirmation and, after receiving it, did as he had been asked.  ‘Agent Romanov mission’ produced a slight glowing on the scans, but no other combination had any effect.

“Should I do all four?” he asked once he had exhausted the possible combinations.

Stark and Banner exchanged looks.  “I’m game,” Stark replied.  “Bruce?”

The doctor hesitated, gazing thoughtfully at the hologram in front of him.  After a few slow breaths, he stated, “Me too.  Just let me get a second dose of everything ready just in case.”  As he turned to make his preparations, he added, “Wanda and Pietro, could one of you please warn Natasha that we’re about to try something that could cause her a lot of pain?”

Steve was watching the woman in front of him, so he clearly saw the way the expression in her eyes shifted from semi-impatient waiting to defiant bravery.

“ _Natasha says to get the hell on with it already.  She is not getting any younger._ ”

From the side of the room, Barton barked out a short, disbelieving laugh.  “Oh my god,” he murmured once he had recovered himself, “that is so her.”  When Steve turned to catch his eye, he could see the pain in the other man’s face, the tears he was holding back.  “She doesn’t even know who she is,” Barton added.  “How is that even possible?”

This time, Odinson’s hand smacked against the smaller blond’s back, most likely meant as a show of support but in reality causing him to stumble several steps forward and nearly fall.

“Okay, Captain,” Banner’s voice interrupted, bringing Steve back to the task at hand.  “We’re ready whenever you are.”

For a moment, Steve just examined the eyes of the red-headed telepath in front of him.  Even with more than half of her face covered, he could see the determination in her.  Her eyes seemed to be daring him to do his worst.  Carefully, he considered.  He could continue this slow, delicate path, inching forward with measured steps, holding back out of fear and worry, or he could follow his gut, trust in the obvious strength he saw before him, and throw all of his cards on the table at once.  He knew which one the doctor wanted, but he, Steve, was the captain and, in the end, it was his responsibility and his call.

He stood, the chair scraping a bit as it moved, crossed his arms heavily over his chest, and, before anyone had the time to do more than offer a worried “Captain?”, frowned fiercely and barked, “Agent Romanov!  Mission report!”

Romanov jerked violently, throwing her hands to her head and screwing her eyes shut as the hologram flared red and Wanda unnecessarily cried, “ _Natasha is in pain!_ ”  With a violent curse, Banner jumped forward and injected Romanov with his second dose, but Steve could see both from the scan and from the body language of the poor woman in front of him that it did little to help.

“Tony!” Banner cried, getting to his feet quickly from where he had knelt to give her the medicine.  “Get me readings on those levels fast!”

“Working on it!” Stark replied, his hands flying over the keyboards in front of him.  “Dammit,” he muttered a second later.  “That really did it.  The whole thing came down.”

“All of it?” Barton asked.  “The memories, too?”  He was being held in place by Odinson’s strong hand, having immediately tried to rush to Romanov’s side.

“God, no,” Stark replied to his questions.  “Just the speech.  But that’s bad enough.  Bruce, sending you the new levels.”

A wave of guilt crashing over him, Steve began to lower himself to the floor, intending to try to comfort the suffering woman, but before he could settle, he found himself pushed aside by a strong hand.  Winter slotted himself into the space that Steve had planned to occupy and lifted both hands to take Romanov’s head gently between them.  He guided her forehead to his, and the two of them stilled together, both of their faces tense and tight.

“What …?” Steve began, but Pietro answered him before he could get the words out.

“ _He is sharing her pain.  He has inserted himself in her mind so that some of the burns are inflicted on him instead of her._ ”  The young man paused, his eyes shifting to take in the older man on his knees on the floor.  “ _When the Chitauri had us, when they made us wear the helmets that gave us extreme pain, he would enter our minds and help us bear it.  He had found a way to break his helmet and remove his pain, so he lessened ours instead.  It is how we were able to gain enough strength to communicate with each other._ ”  He shifted his eyes back to Steve’s, the seriousness in them flooding him with sympathy and admiration.  “ _That is how we formed our plans to escape_ ,” Pietro told him.  “ _That is how we survived.  Because of him._ ”

“Move, Steve.”  Banner was next to him, injection vial in hand, and Steve realized that he had fallen directly into the space the doctor needed to be.  Quickly, he shifted out of the way so that Banner could administer a third dose of medicine, and this one seemed to do the trick.  The red glow in the hologram rapidly dulled, and within seconds, both of the elder telepaths’ faces had cleared.  Romanov slowly opened her eyes as Winter sat back on his heels, dropping his hands from her face.

Several minutes passed during which no one moved or spoke.  Then, deciding it was time to break the silence, Steve asked quietly, “Natasha?  How are you?”

Romanov sluggishly lifted her eyes to meet his.  She looked exhausted, like she had just run a marathon or two, but she didn’t seem to be in any more pain.  In fact, Steve thought he saw the slightest twinkle in her eye as a new voice appeared in his head, deeper and richer than he expected.

“ _How … do you think … I am … idiot?_ ”

“ _Oh, now that is just not fair_ ,” Pietro complained, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting slightly.  Wanda simply laughed.

“Bruce!” Stark called from his place at the computers.  “Come look at these tissue scans!”  As Banner scrambled to join him, he flashed the rest of the room a smile and crowed, “Are we good, or are we good?”

“Doctor?” Steve questioned, rising to his feet but keeping his eye on Romanov.  Winter stayed on the ground, also watching his fellow telepath, oblivious to the commotion that was happening among the English-speakers.

“The surrounding tissue has barely been affected,” Banner reported with wonder and excitement obvious in his voice.  “Unlike the twins who both experienced swelling and some minor nerve damage, Natasha has managed to make it through the process with only minimal effects.”

“Which is why she is already speaking in sentences,” Steve concluded with a smile down at the woman who was breathing heavily and beginning to lean into Winter’s accommodating shoulder.

“ _Like I said_ ,” Pietro commented.  “ _Unfair._ ”

“ _You are just jealous_ ,” his sister teased him.

Pietro made a face and looked like he meant to comment, but suddenly both Maximoffs shifted their attention to Winter.  After what was obviously a quick psychic conversation, the older man removed the electrodes from Romanov’s head and then stood, scooping her into his arms as Wanda turned to the rest of the room and announced, “ _Natasha needs to rest._ ”

“Yes,” Banner smiled at her.  “That’s a very good idea.”  To Winter, he added, “Take care of her.”

The man had begun to cross the room towards the hallway to the lower levels, but when Wanda relayed the doctor’s message, he paused to turn back to them and nod once.  Briefly, he caught Steve’s eye, a momentary meeting of gazes, and then he had resumed his exit, leaving the room moments later.

“ _Bruce_ ,” Wanda asked when they had gone, “ _does this mean that you can now answer our questions from before?  Are you no longer afraid?_ ”

“Almost,” Banner answered her with a smile.  “Tony and I need to review what we just learned and make sure we understand it.  Then we need to get a bunch of medicine ready just in case.”

Both Maximoffs nodded, accepting this.  “ _And Natasha needs to recover_ ,” Pietro added.  “ _If there is danger of more pain, we will all need our full strength before beginning._ ”

“We could start with just the two of you,” Stark suggested.  “See how it goes and then tell the other two later.”

Both Pietro and Wanda shook their heads as Wanda answered, “ _No.  What one of us knows, all of us know.  That was our promise.  We are always together, even when we are apart._ ”

“Then we’ll wait,” Steve announced, although in his head he was already ticking time off of their countdown clock.  “Let’s meet back here in four hours.  Is that acceptable?”

He looked to Banner and Stark who consulted briefly before agreeing, then to the Maximoffs who nodded in sync.  When the latter two turned to leave, however, Steve stopped them.

“Wait, one question before you go.”  With their attention back on him, he asked, “Why do your leader and Natasha still wear those masks over their faces?  The air has been clean for days.”

To his surprise, Wanda smirked slightly and lowered her eyes while Pietro dipped his head, his shoulders shaking with laughter that echoed quietly in Steve’s mind.

“ _Natasha wears it because our leader does_ ,” came the answer in Wanda’s gentle voice.

Her brother finished with, “ _And our leader wears it simply because you, Steve, want him to take it off._ ”

“... What?”

The blond young man turned to face him fully, the corners of his eyes crinkled in obvious amusement.  “ _Since you first met him_ ,” he explained, “ _your mind has been fixated on two things: getting us to come with you and seeing our faces.  Other things come and go from the forefront of your mind, but these two remain constant just behind them.  Our leader is the last one whose face you have not seen, and so he is determined not to show it to you._ ”

A sudden anger rushed through Steve’s body, straightening his spine and making his hands twitch with the urge to curl into fists.  “So what?” he challenged.  “He’s doing it just to spite me?”

“ _You misunderstand, Steve_ ,” Wanda soothed, her smile softening.  “ _This was not always the reason.  At first it was because of the air, yes.  And then it was comforting to him and Natasha to keep themselves as covered as possible.  It was a form of protection for them that Pietro and I did not feel we needed.  But now, to him, the two desires in your mind are linked.  When we decide to come with you, he will show you his face.  Not before._ ”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed and he dipped his chin as he considered this information.  He had hoped, of course, that Winter would have trusted him with his face long before now, but it did make sense that such a careful, calculating man would guard even the smallest things that could be considered assets.  And if Steve had been as obvious as Pietro implied with his desires, then clearly Winter would hoard this last secret, no matter how much trust they had built up between them.  His was the last face, the last name, the last history.  As much as Steve wanted to know, he had to admit there was a certain poeticness about its reveal being held until the very end.

He had stayed silent long enough for the Maximoffs to begin their exit once more, and this time, they made it to the hallway before Steve stopped them.

“Wanda.  You said ‘when’.  Not if you decide to come with us.  When.”

Wanda blinked, as if surprised by this revelation herself, but she soon slipped into a secretive smile.  “ _So I did_ ,” she replied.  Then, she slid her arm around her brother’s neck as he lifted her into his arms, and the next second they had disappeared.

xXx

Natasha breathed slowly and evenly through her nose.  The pain was completely manageable now, just a low throbbing ache, and she knew that if the situation required it, she could function just fine with it persisting in her head.  At this moment, however, the situation did not require it.  She had the time to deal with it properly, so she did.  The male -- Winter, the others called him -- had brought her a blanket, so she focused on the feel of the fabric on her skin as she breathed.  In and out.  Even and slow.

Words were bouncing about in her head, but she filed them away one after the other.  Apparently she had known four different languages, two of them as instinctual as breathing.  This new part of her mind that the others had opened up knew which of the words belonged to which language, so she let it organize them as it wanted.  She would analyze them once the pain had gone completely.  For now, she simply wanted her mind clean and uncluttered.

Winter had left an anchor in her mind, a gentle touch, mindful of her pain, and through it she felt him converse with Pietro and Wanda.  The two children talked to him the same way they always had, but to each other they used only the new words that the others had given them.  Natasha listened and considered.  The words were quite useful for some things, but for others, their old way could convey much more.  Once she had recovered, she would remind them that they were more than lost others and would show them, through her own example, just how powerful a merging of the two methods could be.

A small smile lifted her lips as the pain receded enough for her thoughts to wander.  Lost others.  Oh yes, they understood what they were, even though no one had confirmed it yet.  Steve and his group would be very surprised when they realized that, during those days when they prepared their experiment and medicines, the four of them had been very active as well.  Bruce’s refusal to answer had been an answer in itself.  From there, they had brought their minds together, combining the siblings’ new understanding with her instinctual knowledge and their leader’s natural ability to follow ideas to their conclusions.  They had done their own search of their residence, pushing past fear to explore locations they had not yet before, and finding a pile of puzzle pieces waiting for someone to put them together.

Apparently words could be more than spoken.  They could also be written.  And Pietro was a  _very_ fast learner.  Even with machines.

They had once been like Steve and Bruce and the others.  They understood that now.  Where they came from, what their lives had once been, they still did not know, but whatever place that had been, the Chitauri had taken them from it and brought them here.  Taken away their memories and stored them within dark spaces inside their minds.  Done the same with their words.  And then, turned them into something more than what they had been.

Steve and his group wanted to help them because they had once been the same.  But they were no longer the same and never would be, even if they managed to restore their words and memories.  Even so, that desire to help was honest and heartfelt and, above all, useful.  That, more than anything, had convinced Natasha to agree when Bruce had requested her for his experiment.  They would never be the same again, but the more they knew, the more they understood, the more powerful they would be.  So they would accept the offered help to restore their words and memories.  Perhaps they would even accept the offer to take them somewhere “safe” where there would presumably be more food and water.  But Natasha knew they would never trust these people completely.  No matter how honest and heartfelt they were.

“ _Natasha?_ ” Wanda’s voice came to her.  “ _Are you feeling better?_ ”

Natasha sighed, rolling her eyes to herself, and replied so that Winter could understand as well.

**Yes**

Wanda’s embarrassment bled through as she also switched to their old way of communicating.

_… -- Sorry_

She began to explain what the others had said after she and their leader had left, but Natasha stopped her, saying that she had been paying enough attention during their previous conversation to get the gist.  Winter then asked for an update on her progress with the words and a detailed description of her current condition, something more meaningful than ‘feeling better’.  Natasha smirked as the words ‘Status report’ flitted through her mind.  She gave him the information he wanted, confirming his assumption that she would be ready for their next meeting in just over three hours.  She felt his responding satisfaction and contentment wash over her, soothing the last few raw places in her mind.

**_Rest_ **

The order came through with fondness and a lingering concern.  She smiled.

**Yes**

_Care --- Love_

“ _Be well, Natasha._ ”

Contentedly, she stretched out on her makeshift bed, the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders.  Three hours was just enough time for a satisfying nap.  When she woke, her mind would be clean and strong and ready to grow stronger.  In fact, if all went well, perhaps by this time tomorrow she would know what kind of person she had once been.  Perhaps she would know what kind of person would find the words ‘mission report’ so common that they could be used as a trigger against her.  Yet regardless of what she found, she knew it would only make her stronger.  

Because no matter what she had been, that was the kind of person she was now.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would think I would know better than to make a statement about when the next chapter would be going up. That's obviously a cue for Life to throw everything it possibly can at me. "Oh, you think you have things under control?? Try this!!" *sigh*
> 
> So very sorry for the wait. Thank you for your patience.

Four hours had passed since the last time they had all stood here in this room.  This time, they all sat, even Bruce who nervously picked at the edge of his sleeve cuff as his eyes scanned his preparations for the twentieth time.  A line of injection vials sat on a tray beside him, their dosages ranging from a small bit to help with a partial trigger to the full trigger for Winter’s sole remaining speech center to what he hoped to high heaven was the correct dosage for a full-on memory collapse.  It seemed unlikely that he would need them based on what they now knew about how the triggers worked, but he couldn’t stand the thought of doing this without being prepared.  Even with being prepared, he was horribly nervous, but he knew they had no choice.

They only had thirty-eight hours left.

“All right, before we begin, I have to ask.  Natasha, are you fully recovered from earlier today?”

“ _I am.  You may proceed without worry._ ”

“Good.  This time we aren’t going to scan you, so it’s up to you to tell us immediately if any of you experience any pain.  And I mean anything, even if it’s small.  Do you understand?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“ _Yes, Steve._ ”

“ _We understand._ ”

“And your leader?  Does he understand?”

“ _He says yes, he understands._ ”

“Good.  Feel free to stop me at any time if you have questions or if you need time to translate.  Otherwise, I’m just going to talk until I run out of things to say.  Everyone ready?  Okay.

“We are, as Bruce told you before, part of a race called humans.  Although we were born and lived in different places, our species originally came from a planet called Earth.  As our species grew, we were able to build giant ships and travel to other planets.  Thor was born on one of those ships and lived there for most of his life.  I was born on Earth but moved to a planet called Mars when I was a child and lived most of my life there.  Humans went to other planets as well, sometimes living over the entire planet, sometimes colonizing only a small part of it.

“You all are, as Pietro suspected, also human.  We unfortunately know nothing about your leader, but Natasha, Pietro, and Wanda were all born on Earth.  Natasha stayed there while Pietro and Wanda moved to a place called Soko Colony when they were young.”

Pietro frowned and looked at his hands, clasped between his knees, as his mind worked.  Already, much of what Steve was saying didn’t make complete sense to him.  The words registered in his mind, and he understood them on some level, but the full meaning refused to make itself known.  Steve had said, however, that they were to ask questions.

“ _I am sorry, but I am having trouble understanding what you mean by a ‘planet’.  In my head, the word means a large rock floating in space, but that does not make sense to me.  How can a rock be large enough for people to live on it?_ ”  He could see as well as feel Steve struggling with how to answer, so he continued, “ _For us, we have always lived here, surrounded by metal.  Does that mean we are on a ship?_ ”

“No.  No, this is a planet.  And at least two of you have been outside.  If you’re on a ship, you can’t do that.”

Outside.  The word sent off sparks in Pietro’s mind.  Outside.  The opposite of inside.  Inside meant encased, surrounded by walls.  They were inside.  They were inside a _building._  On a planet.  And the Great Room was not a room at all.  It was _outside_.  That was why it was so bright, why it was so hard to breathe.  It all made _sense!_

He could feel the others’ confusion, so he quickly shared his revelation with them before requesting, “ _Bruce, could you show us a picture in your mind of what it looked like when you came here?  Outside?_ ”

“I’ll do you one better,” Tony remarked before Bruce could respond.  He turned to a small machine that was sitting next to him and said, “JARVIS, give me an aerial view of the building please.”

A moment later, one of those hanging pictures appeared before them, this one showing a large metal box surrounded by browns and a bit of greens at the edges.  Outside.  And there, the box that they were inside.

An image slammed into their minds, so powerful that all of Steve’s group threw hands to their heads and even Pietro flinched.  An image of the ceiling of the Great Room -- the sky -- and streaks of light falling across it.

“I’ll get to that,” Steve replied to their leader’s question.  “I promise.”

Winter stared at him hard for half a minute before relenting and looking away.

“Okay, so where was I?  Oh, right.  So Pietro and Wanda were on Soko Colony, which we know because of the picture we found of Pietro in the Chitauri’s files.  We were able to search for his face in our files and found a match among the colonists at Soko.  Those same files also gave us a picture of Wanda which is the real reason why we knew what you looked like before you took your mask off.”

“ _You told our leader it was because there was a picture of me in the Chitauri files as well._ ”

“Yes, we did.  At the time, you still didn’t trust us much, and I didn’t know how dangerous you were to my men.  Bruce and I decided it was safer to lie about where we had acquired the picture.  I apologize for the deceit and hope that you will forgive us.”

“ _Of course, Steve._ ”

“ _It was not vital information and tactically a good move.  We forgive you._ ”

“Thank you, Natasha.  I appreciate it.”

“ _Is that how you acquired my name as well?_ ”

“No.  We know about your name and history because you used to work with Clint.”

Clint swallowed as Natasha’s eyes shifted to bore into him.  He absolutely hated the blank calculation in those eyes, but he knew that, even if she had her memories, there would more likely than not be no recognition in that gaze.

“ _Work_ ,” she echoed, not understanding.

“ _Work,_ ” Pietro said, as if reading from a dictionary.  “ _To provide effort or service in exchange for some kind of compensation.  Work is how people obtain food and shelter._ ”  He looked to the captain for confirmation.  “ _Right?_ ”

“Yes,” Rogers smiled at him.  “That’s right.”

Clint managed a smile for the kid as well.  He among all of them seemed to pick up on things the most quickly.

“ _You knew me_ ,” Natasha said, causing the fleeting smile to fall from Clint’s face.  “ _You and I worked together._ ”

He swallowed again before simply replying, “Yes.”

“ _What was our work?_ ”

Briefly, Clint looked to Rogers, hoping that maybe his captain would do the explaining for him, but the other man merely gave him a small hand wave to continue.  Taking a breath for preparation, he turned back to the woman currently dissecting him with her eyes and said, “You did a lot of different things.  You found people, found things.  You got information that no one else could get.  Sometimes you protected people.  You always did it with very few people knowing that you had done it.”

Natasha considered this a moment, her head on one side.  Then, she asked, “ _And you?_ ”

“I protected you,” Clint answered, his voice a half-whisper.  “Not that you needed it.”

Those eyes watched him for several heartbeats more.  And then, just slightly, her eyes softened and her lips slid upwards into a small smile before she looked away.

“ _Please continue, Steve._ ”

“Okay.  So Natasha was born on Earth, but because of her work, she traveled a lot.  To many different planets.  That’s all we know about you before all this happened.  And like I said, we know nothing about your leader.  If he would show us his face, we could look in our files like we did for Pietro and Wanda, but he hasn’t done that and, I’m told, isn’t going to do that, so.  There we are.

“Moving on.  Five years ago, the Chitauri attacked the humans.  We don’t know why.  They just appeared and started taking our lands, killing our people.  In the beginning, we didn’t know how to fight them, and we lost.  We lost badly.  Many people died, including, we thought, the entirety of Soko Colony.  The Chitauri attacked and decimated the colony within hours.  We thought that no one had survived.  We thought that the Chitauri killed everyone they took.  We didn’t realize they had lied to us and kept you alive.”

Wanda felt her heart tighten, and she reached out to take her brother’s hand.  He laced his fingers with hers, silently offering his comfort.  Something in her mind was pulsing slightly, but it wasn’t causing pain yet so she kept it to herself.  The memories hidden behind that wall, obviously they were tied to this Soko Colony that had fallen to the Chitauri.  Part of her wanted all of those memories back right now; part of her was afraid.  How would the Wanda that she had been compare to the Wanda she was now?  Were there happy memories buried in the dark?  Would they be enough to counteract the one terrible memory she knew lurked in wait?  Who was she really?  Who would she be when she was whole?

Pietro’s mind slid against hers, wrapping his warmth around the cold that was seeping through her.

_With you -- …_

_Always -- …_

Slowly, Wanda let out the breath she was holding and slid her chair closer to her brother’s so she could lay her head on his shoulder.

_… -- Yes_

“Natasha disappeared some time after that.  We don’t know exactly when or where or how because she was working a secret job at the time, trying to find information on the Chitauri and how to fight them.  And we don’t know how they got your leader, although my guess is that he was one of the many, many soldiers who died trying to protect humanity, sacrificing themselves to give people like Bruce and Tony enough time to find a way to fight back.  I was one of those soldiers, too, and when I look at him, I recognize certain things that I see in myself.

“Eventually, the scientists on Earth found a way to fight the Chitauri, and we started pushing back.  First we drove them off of Mars, my planet, and then we started moving outwards, taking back the places that the Chitauri had stolen.  My group was formed just for that purpose.  We search out Chitauri bases and destroy them.  That’s how we found this one.  That’s how we found you.  If you had still been under the Chitauri’s control when we arrived, we would have freed you, but, well, you weren’t.”

“ _No, we weren’t.  But if we had been, would you have freed us before taking us onto your ship?  Or would you have dragged us there first and freed us after?_ ”

Tony lifted an eyebrow at Natasha’s pointed question.  Rogers, to his credit, only squirmed slightly before answering, “I would be lying if I said I knew for certain, but I would hope that we would have freed you here and given you the option to come with us just as we’re doing now.”

“ _Is it really an option, though?  You have been here many days and show no sign of leaving until we come with you._ ”

The captain sighed, clearly hesitating, so Tony did what he did best: interfered.  “JARVIS,” he said to his faithful AI, “play the recordings from our battle with the Chitauri warship.”

JARVIS did not comply immediately, and Tony could _feel_ him struggling with the need to get confirmation from Rogers conflicting with the order to not speak and thereby freak out the telepaths when they heard a new voice coming from the machines.  Thankfully for his cyber-buddy, Rogers turned in his seat to meet Tony’s eye and, nodding, verified the order.

“Go ahead, JARVIS.”

The recordings began to play, showing the arrival of the warship from two different angles and the subsequent destruction of it from the _Avenger_ ’s lasers.

“This is what your leader saw from down here on the planet.  After you killed all of the Chitauri here, their superiors tried to contact them and, receiving no answer, sent this ship to investigate.  We destroyed it, resulting in the lights you saw, but once this ship also did not answer, the Chitauri homeworld knew that something was wrong here.  They are sending more ships.  A lot more.”

“ _Can you destroy these ships as well?_ ”

“No.  Not that many at once.  If we try, we will most likely be destroyed ourselves.”

Natasha frowned heavily at this new information, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest.  She felt the fear blooming in the two children and an anger that mirrored her own rising in Winter.

“ _How long have you known of this?_ ” she asked.

Steve gave her a look that she supposed was apologetic, but it did little to quell her irritation when he answered, “We assumed this would happen pretty much from the beginning, although we didn’t get confirmation until yesterday.”

“ _Why didn’t you tell us earlier?_ ”

“What good would it have done?  I’ve been saying from the beginning that we want to get you somewhere safe, but you always reply that you can take care of yourselves.”

“ _We_ **_can_ ** _take care of ourselves,_ ” she snapped at him, but Steve shook his head at her.

“Not on this scale.  That beam that you saw take apart the warship?  They have those, too.  They can attack you from the sky, and you won’t be able to fight back.  And yet, before today, before you could understand what I’m saying, would you have believed me if I had told you that?  Do you even really believe it now?  A moment ago, Pietro didn’t understand what a planet was.  Can you really understand and believe in a threat that exists outside a planet?  That can hurt you here on the planet while it stays up there in space?

“I know it’s a lot to take in, and it’s a lot to take on trust, but believe me when I say that from the beginning, I and my crew have only been concerned with helping you.  Because you’re human, yes, but also because you need help.  You think you don’t, but you do.  From the Chitauri and their warships, yes, but also from starvation and dehydration and disease.  If you come with us, we can protect you.  We can help you find lives again, lives without fear.  But the choice to come, it has to be yours.  Because as humans, you have rights, and those rights and those choices have been taken away from you for far too long already.”

Anxiously, Thor watched the telepaths as they considered what the captain had said.  The two younger ones looked quite frightened while the red-head still clearly displayed anger and distrust.  As for the fourth one, the one called Winter, his face betrayed nothing, his eyes fixed on Rogers across from him.  For a moment, Thor wondered if the others had forgotten to translate for him, but when Wanda Maximoff flinched, her expression displaying a sharp sadness, he knew that the question she spoke next had not in fact come from her own mind.

“ _If we refuse to come with you, will you leave us to die?_ ”

Rogers’s face fell, and Thor’s heart went out to him.  It was the question that none of them wanted to answer, the responsibility that they all were glad fell to someone else.  The role of captain naturally came with its share of horrors just as it came with its own joys, and this particular horror was one that Thor was not eager to shoulder for himself: the decision of who lives and who dies.

“I … I won’t want to.  But in the end, I will have to.  I have my own men to protect as well.  I can’t just … I … well.  Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Rogers lifted his eyes to gaze into Winter’s, the same strength mirroring in each of them.  For a moment, Thor’s breath was stolen by the power in that connection, the meeting of two leaderships, both dedicated and determined.  A moment later, it had broken as the masked telepath rose to his feet and waved a hand in a gesture of dismissal.

“ _That is enough_ ,” Natasha announced, standing as well.  “ _We will think about what you have told us and give you our decision tomorrow._ ”

“Your decision?” Rogers asked, also getting to his feet.  “You mean about whether you will come with us or not?”

“ _Yes.  If there is danger in remaining here, then we should decide quickly whether we will trust in you to keep us safe or whether we would rather stay here and possibly die_.”

“I … I understand.  Until tomorrow then.”

Winter nodded, and two seconds later, he was the only telepath remaining in the room, Pietro Maximoff having whisked away both women.  When the final telepath made his exit, he didn’t bother using the door, striding purposefully up to and then through the wall, having passed through two desks on his way there.  It was almost as if he was throwing in their faces that, as much as they claimed the four were human, they weren’t only that anymore.

Rogers just shook his head and chuckled, throwing a single word after the man who had left: “Showoff.”

xXx

For the first time since they had freed themselves and killed those who held them captive, He was worried.  If the Unknown Leader could be trusted -- and he could, he _knew_ he could -- the Them were coming back with giant Ceiling Monsters against which they had absolutely no hope of winning.  The only choice for life, the only way to Protect, seemed to be going with the Unknown.

But to where?

Onto the Unknown’s own Ceiling Monster for starters.  But then where?  To the world of the Unknown?  What would they find there?  More Unknown presumably, but He already knew from reading the various Unknown’s thoughts that not all Unknown were as kind as the Healer and the Leader.  After all, when she was an Unknown, She had had to Protect one Unknown from another.  So not all Unknown were good.  Not all Unknown could be trusted.

Worse was his fear that they would be separated.  Here, even if they died, they died together.  Somewhere else, they did not have that assurance.  He did not want to leave if it meant that they could not stay together.

It was late, very late, but he could not sleep.  He had told the others to sleep instead, claiming watch for the night so he could think.  The silent, peaceful minds of Two-He and Two-She had been curled up against his mind for hours now.  He knew very well what they wanted his decision to be.  The thought of death terrified their young hearts, even more so than the thought of recapture.  As for She, she had stayed up with him for a while but had eventually also fallen asleep.  Her opinion sided with Two-He and Two-She but for different reasons.  She did not fear death.  She also did not fear the Unknown, believing in her strength to Protect them all.

He was less sure.

Far above him, four Unknown minds were asleep as well.  He could touch them if he wanted, but he let them be.  Their minds would give him nothing during sleep save a vague emotional impression of their dreams.  No, the only mind he considered seeking out was the one that was awake and keeping watch over the night as he was.

He had said that, when He was an Unknown, he had probably been a soldier.  That looking at him, He reminded him of himself.  He didn’t like the feelings that came with those thoughts.  It made those moving, sliding edges of his mind burn.  The Unknown Healer would be angry with him for not saying anything, but He didn’t care.  The problems within his mind were his own.  And all of them, all of them from that very first day, had been caused by the Unknown Leader.

Above him, the Leader’s mind moved.  Back and forth.  Pacing, it seemed.  Not even bothering to lie down.

Well, if the idiot wasn’t going to even bother to try …

He reached out and touched the Leader’s mind, smiling slightly when he felt the other stop moving in response.  Lacing his thoughts with a gentle reprimand, he sent an image of the hanging beds that he knew the Unknown were using for sleep.  The Leader sent nothing in response, but He could feel the sentiment being thrown back at him.  A “don’t tell me to sleep when you’re not sleeping either.”  It made him grin and send an image of the Leader’s face with messy hair and dark circles under his eyes.  The other man retaliated with a surprisingly clear picture of the face he had seen in shining surfaces throughout the rooms, a face which He assumed was his own.  A face with messy hair and severely dark circles under the eyes.

He sent a playful slap of offended emotion and received one right back.

What was it about this man that brought down all his defenses?  When they were with others, He could maintain his role as Leader and regard the other only in his corresponding Leader role as well.  But in times like now, when it was just the two of them, He could feel his fortifications crumbling, feel the distance between them shrinking to nothing.  As the leader of his group, he trusted the Unknown Leader based on his actions, his thoughts, and his emotions, but as himself, he trusted him solely based on instinct.

The other’s mind had settled into a tired contentment, and he let himself drift in it aimlessly.  The weight of his decision still sat heavily in his heart, and he could feel the worry regarding that decision fluttering lightly just underneath the contentment in the Leader’s mind, but for now he let both go.  Instead he focused on the one thing that he had not been able to understand in their earlier discussion.  The one thing that none of his translators could explain since none of them had known what it looked like.

_Earth_

He smirked at the snap of surprise that shuttered through the Leader’s mind.  Yes, he did not understand the noises that the Unknown made, but Two-He and Two-She had extensively described how the noises gave names to things and He certainly had the ability to form them in his own mind even if he didn’t know what they meant.

He gave the noise again, and then pushed in the request.   **_Show me._ **

Excitement rippled through the Leader’s mind for a moment, but he reined it in in favor of concentration.  Slowly, images began to form, their edges blurred and their emotions muted.  Gently, not wanting to tire the other out too much, He slid inside them and made them stronger.  Saw the Leader’s world from his eyes.

He was somewhere cool and very green.  His feet made crunching noises as he walked, and he looked down to find himself stepping on many small oddly-shaped things of different colors: browns and oranges and reds.  He looked up and saw more oranges, more reds in the distance.  Tall, closely packed.  To his left was a great puddle of water, its surface rippling slightly and reflecting some of the colors.  To his right was a very tall female Unknown, his hand held in hers.  He realized as he looked up at her and her tender, smiling face, that she was not tall.  No, he was small.  His hand fit neatly into hers, all five of his fingers encased in her warm palm.

His heart swelled as he looked at her.  Love.  He loved her, and she loved him.

He looked around some more.  A little bit away was a structure of stone, spanning a small length of the puddle, connecting one side to the other.  A few Unknown were walking on it, another few standing still in the middle, gazing down at the puddle and talking.  More Unknown walked in other places around them, their feet crunching just like his.  Far, far in the distance stood several enormous structures, their tops reaching high to the light blue ceiling.

This was Earth then.  This was where the Unknown Leader had been born.  This was where She and Two-He and Two-She had been born.  This was probably where He had been born as well.  This was where the Unknown wanted to take them.

It didn’t seem so bad.

Having seen this, however, his curiosity only grew.  The Leader had said that only part of his life had been spent on Earth.  The rest had been spent somewhere else.  A place with a different noise to name it.

_Mars_

Immediately, the images changed, and these were stronger.  These images had the Leader’s heart behind them.  Earth was where he had been born, but Mars was where he had lived.

There was no green, no blue.  Only brown and orange and red and a pink-brown ceiling.  Everywhere he looked was rock and dust, and yet … _And yet_.

Love.  So much love for this empty, barren place.

He took a step forward within the Leader’s memories, and he noticed he was wearing the same type of suit the Unknown had worn when they first arrived.  He was gazing out at the world through the glass of a head-cover, its enclosure secure but not suffocating.  Carefully, he knelt to the ground and picked up a handful of the dirt below him, letting its fine grains slide between his covered fingers.  Something at his side shifted, and He realized that someone stood beside him just like in the other memory.  Perhaps it was even the same female.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when the sliding, hidden corners of it shifted violently and _burned_.

The memory was continuing on without him, so he ignored the pain to stay present within it.  The Leader had risen to his feet again, and now he turned, looking behind him.  And there was the life that the view forward had so desperately lacked.  A world encased in glass.  Greens and silvers and golds.  He knew without seeing them that other Unknown lived there within those glass walls.  This was Mars, a world so very different than Earth but so very precious just the same.

The Leader was tiring, he could feel it, so He withdrew his influence from the memories and let them fade away.  He sent his gratitude to the other man and felt a responding emotion of pleased happiness.  This time, the image of the hanging bed produced only agreement, and He felt the Leader move closer to where the other sleeping minds lay.  Smiling to himself, he sent a simple farewell before removing his mind touch, for some reason pleased that the other man would finally get some rest.

As for him, He still had a decision to make.  Although he knew one thing now that he hadn’t before: If he did decide to leave with the Unknown, he would insist on being taken not to Earth, but to Mars.

Earth was beautiful, but Mars was home.

xXx

Steve woke with knots in his stomach and a faint taste of acid in his mouth.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this nervous.  Countless times, he had run headlong into battle, guns blazing, without the slightest hint of fear or worry, and yet knowing that in a few hours they would finally have a definitive acceptance or rejection of their offer of help, Steve felt a wave of anxiety that threatened to make him sick.  Slowly, he rolled out of his hammock, determined to at least be in the bathroom should his stomach decide to follow through on that threat.

Odinson was already awake and munching on a protein bar as he poked at a laptop, and the big man nodded briefly to Steve as he passed.  Steve offered him a wan smile in response. He made his way to one of the showers and absently stripped, his mind as blank as he could make it.  His movements were automatic, his mind registering little more than the warmth of the water washing over him as he soaped and rinsed.  He forced himself to focus a bit more once he had finished drying himself off, for no other reason than to ensure he didn’t miss a step when putting on his clothes.

When he stepped back into the main sleeping area, he noted that Banner had gotten up during his absence and had joined Odinson at the other man’s computer.  The two were talking quietly, discussing something on the screen.  Quite likely some of the readings from their experience with Romanov the previous day based on the intent expression on the doctor’s face and the mildly confused one on his second-in-command’s.  Barton and Stark still lay unconscious in their hammocks, one of Barton’s arms hanging off of the side and dangling towards the ground.  Steve smiled indulgently at them and envied their ability to sleep so soundly.  His nightmares had left him alone the previous night, but that did not mean his sleep had been easy.

He managed to keep his mind blank as he went through the motions of eating breakfast, but down here planetside, he did not have the comfort of his morning workout routine and the change began to whittle away at his mental calm.  Briefly he considered just running down the halls and up and down the stairs of the base, but he quickly discarded that idea.  If any of the telepaths saw or sensed him, they would think he had gone mad.  He didn’t need that, not today.  Instead, he settled for a few stretches and then pulled out a laptop for himself to check in with JARVIS.

It took only a few minutes for the AI to report that he was doing very well and that orbiting the planet without any crew aboard really wasn’t all that difficult, thank you, sir.  Steve checked his messages next and found among the chatter that went back and forth between the _Avenger_ and HQ a single line from M: “Please update”.  He grimaced slightly and stored it for later.  There was no point in answering it now.  In a few hours, whatever he would have written would have completely changed.

Some time during his sifting through messages, Banner had grown tired of analyzing data on his own and had woken Stark.  It had taken several minutes for the grumpy genius to wake up fully, but now that he had caffeinated himself, the two were talking quietly but animatedly to each other in front of Odinson’s computer.  Odinson himself had moved aside, knowing that he was just in the way now.  When Steve finally lifted his head from his own screen, the big blond man caught his eye and smiled, holding up a deck of cards and tilting his head in question.

Steve smiled back at him.  “Where did you get those?”

“I always carry them,” Odinson replied, “for just such an occasion.  Game?”

“Love one.  Poker?”

The other man made a face, and Steve grinned.  The entire crew knew how cutthroat he could be at poker.  “Gin?” Odinson counter-suggested.

“Sounds good.”

Eventually Barton woke up, showered and ate, and then joined them.  Eventually Steve yelled at the two scientists to give their brains a break and go get clean.  Eventually they switched to Crazy Eights, then Blackjack, then Go Fish (at Barton’s request), and finally, to Steve’s delight, poker.  Odinson offered to teach them Pinochle, but they declined.  Stark attempted to get in on the poker action, but Banner refused to let him go.  The entire time, Steve refused to allow himself to look at a clock or think about how much time was passing.  The entire time, he felt like his insides had twisted themselves into one giant knot.

And then, it happened.

“ _Steve._ ”

His head shot up, and instantly all four of his men were staring at him, their expressions serious.  He took a slow breath, then another, before replying, “Hello, Wanda.”

“ _Hello,_ ” her gentle voice returned, her smile an audible warmth.  “ _Will you and the others please come downstairs.  We are waiting for you there._ ”

“Yes.  Yes, we’ll be right down.”  He handed his cards to Odinson who quickly cleared them up and put them away while Banner closed up the laptop, Barton scrambled for his shoes, and Stark cleaned up the mess of mechanical bits he had strewn about during his distracted twitching.  As for Steve, he got to his feet slowly, breathing deeply and trying to slow the frantic beating of his heart.  If their answer was yes, they could simply move forward.  If their answer was no, however, he would have to make a choice, and he knew he wasn’t ready for that yet.  He rather doubted he ever would be.

Once his men were ready, Steve led the way down the stairs and into the main room on the first floor.  As reported, the four were already there, standing in a short line along the far wall.  Steve followed their lead and silently directed his men to form a line as well.  He took his place directly across from Winter, and the symmetry of it eased his nerves a bit.  Here they all were, all visible, all equal.  Even the telepath leader seemed more open than usual, his face still half-covered, but his arms hanging loosely by his sides instead of crossed defensively over his chest.

“So,” he said once he felt the silence had stretched long enough, “have you made your decision?”

“ _Almost_ ,” Natasha answered.  Her eyes watched him carefully but without that suspicion that had he had seen so many times before.  “ _We have a few conditions._ ”

“Conditions?” Steve echoed, surprised.  The word caused a swell of hope in his chest.  People normally didn’t demand conditions if they were planning on refusing outright.  “What conditions?”

“ _We are not to be separated,_ ” Pietro stated.  “ _Not for any reason.  If we decide at a later point that we wish to split up, then we will be allowed to do so, but until then, we stay together._ ”

“ _We will decide if we want to regain our memories or not_ ,” Wanda continued.  “ _If one of us decides they wish to pursue that, then you may help.  However, until we ask, the only remaining help you may give us is to return our Leader’s speech._ ”

“ _And finally_ ,” Natasha finished, a gleam in her eyes, “ _you will allow us to join your fight against the Chitauri.  We will not be shipped home as victims to be coddled and cared for._ ”

Stunned, Steve stood still for a moment, simply blinking at them.  As conditions went, they were extremely logical and not unreasonable.  And yet …

“As a member of the Earthforce military, I cannot guarantee any of those things,” he began his reply, speaking slowly and deliberately.  “Should I be ordered as an officer to deliver you to different locations, it is my duty to do so.  However …”  He dipped his head briefly, allowing himself one more moment to think this through before committing, although in truth, he didn’t need even that moment.  “However, as a member of the human race, I will swear to you that I will do everything I can to fulfill your requests.  I joined the military to protect the people of my planet.  I will gladly discard the military to protect you.  _Don’t any of you say a word!_ ” he ordered, throwing out a hand at Odinson and Banner who had both moved as if to speak.  “No one gets court-martialed but me!”

“Captain,” his second protested, but Steve ignored him.

“I guarantee you that the moment you step aboard the _Avenger_ , that is the moment that I will dedicate all my strength for you.  I will not separate you.  I will not force you to do anything you do not wish to do.  And if I receive orders that go against that, I will disobey them for you.  You have had your pasts taken from you and still you are trusting me with your futures.  You deserve everything I can give you, and I will give it as long as you are in my care.”

He could feel his men twitching with the desire to jump in and join him, but Steve kept his focus on the dark-haired figure before him.  He truly hoped that whoever was translating for him had managed to convey just how strongly he felt about this.  He was a soldier, yes, but he didn’t and never had fought for an army.  He fought for people.  And right now, he wanted nothing more than to fight for _them_.

The silence that had fallen when he had finished his speech was growing.  Not uncomfortable, but powerful.  Weighted.  Like a world of souls on the edge of their seat, holding their collective breath.  Winter’s eyes held his own in a gaze so strong, so intense, that Steve simultaneously felt like he was drowning and like he could leap into the air and fly.  He didn’t look away.  He didn’t dare.

“ _If that is so,_ ” Pietro’s voice dropped into the silence, his hushed tones rippling through it like waves, “ _then we will come with you_.”

Simultaneously, Winter and Natasha reached their right hands to their faces.

Time seemed to slow as the masks fell away, allowing Steve to feel every emotion sharply and clearly as it came and went.  First, there was shock: a mental numbness that drove away thought even as his body physically reacted with an increased heart-rate and a barely perceptible lowering of his body temperature.  Then, as his mind caught up, disbelief: What he was seeing was not possible.  There was simply no way that it was true.  Next: waves and waves of guilt that drowned out any joy that might have been struggling to make itself known.  How had he not seen?  How could he have been so blind?  Those eyes were haunted and sat in a face that was bruised and starved, but they were _still the same eyes_.  He should have recognized them days ago.  He shouldn’t have needed the nose, the mouth, the chin, in order to see.  He was a stupid, blind fool.

There was at least one telepath in his head, he could tell by the warmth, but Steve knew the others in the room didn’t need special psychic abilities to tell what he was thinking.  He was wearing his emotions on his face for all to see.  The shock, the disbelief, and now the hurt and guilt and self-hatred.  He could hear feet shuffling on either side of him, see the confusion and concern on the faces in front of him.  On the face directly in front of him.

That expression, he _knew_ that expression.  The memory assaulted him with all the power of a ground-to-orbit liftoff.  All at once, he was here, but he was also there.  Blinking awake in a hospital bed to see that expression hovering over him, waiting for him to wake up from yet another surgery.  He had always put on a brave face whenever Steve had had a procedure, but Steve knew he had been worried and hiding it for his sake.  Those brief moments waking up afterwards always let Steve see the true concern in the other’s face, even if it was only for a moment.  In the next, he would always catch it and hide it away again, giving Steve a bright smile and a welcome back.

He wasn’t hiding it this time, and Steve’s throat threatened to close with the force of the emotions running through him.  This face and that one, this place and that one, they layered over each other into a single image that burned brightly in Steve’s mind as he took a step forward and lifted a trembling hand.  The name caught on his tongue as he tried to speak it, tumbling off of it weakly as if he were still the boy in that hospital bed all those years ago.

“Bucky?”

Those eyes blinked at him.  The brow furrowed gently, and the dark head tilted slightly to one side.

And then, Steve’s world exploded.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Stream of consciousness ahead. Make sure your thinking cap is on tight before proceeding.

Something was wrong.  The Unknown Leader was distressed.  The mental link was awash with the other man’s churning emotions, and an image had centered itself in his mind, stronger than any He had seen before.  Gently, He probed at it, allowing himself to slip partially inside it: a room, white and sterile, and a bed with a small Unknown beneath the fabric covering.  Machines surrounded the bed, but they did not frighten him even though a few were attached to the small Unknown.  These machines were helpful, not hurtful; somehow He knew that.

He moved closer within the image -- the memory? -- and the small Unknown opened his eyes and looked at him.  His pale face brightened, blue eyes crinkling, and his lips parted as they smiled.  Something about that face reminded him of the Unknown Leader.  Perhaps this was a memory from when the Leader was small similar to the one that --

_Bucky?_

**_PAIN!_ **

His head his head oh his head it was screaming burning clawing pain pain pain fire his mind was on fire   _Bucky youre here of course Im here Stevie I said I would be didnt I_ streams of fire rivers of pain his hands were on his head clawing at the side of his face make it stop make it stop make it stop -- _WHATS HAPPENING WHATS GOING ON_ \-- he was screaming screaming in pain in his mind outside his mind screams someone was screaming outside his mind Steve Steve its Steve Steve is screaming Steve is in pain too no no no no not Steve anyone but Steve -- _HOLY SHIT THATS BUCKY BARNES_ \-- _Barnes James Buchanan Barnes what kind of a name is Bucky for a spaceman dont be stupid aint you never heard of Buck Rogers_ pain pain pain pain so much pain he was dying he wasnt going to make it _Barnes James B Private 32557038 Barnes 3255 Private James 557 325 32 3 3 3_ \-- _WHATS HAPPENING TO STEVE WHAT HAPPENING TO BOTH OF THEM_ \-- Steve Steve _Stevie_ \-- _THEYRE FEEDING OFF EACH OTHER LIKE A FEEDBACK SPIRAL QUICK GET THEM SEPARATED THOR GET ROGERS OUT OF HERE_ \-- Rogers Steve Rogers his best friend his only true friend Steve Steve dont leave me dont leave me with all this pain burning screaming clawing dying pain falling falling cant stand anymore so much pain pain pain help me someone help me -- _HELP HIM BRUCE PLEASE HELP HIM_ \-- so much pain cant breathe cant think cant move just screaming screaming always screaming -- _DAMMIT ALL MY MEDICINE IS UPSTAIRS ILL GET IT JUST TELL ME WHERE IT IS_ \-- _do you think the medicine will actually help him ma I think so sweetheart just give it time_ hands on him hands on his head hands on his face hands on his hands keeping him from clawing his eyes out from the horrible terrible burning consuming pain -- _I CANT GET IN HIS MIND TO HELP SHIELD HIM THERES TOO MUCH CHAOS TONY WHERE IS THAT SCANNER I NEED A READING BRUCE YOUR MEDICINE STEVE IS STILL SCREAMING UPSTAIRS_ \-- Steve Steve need to help Steve need to protect him promised Id always be there for him always protect him _dont leave Bucky Im scared this time the doctor said this one is more dangerous than the others dont worry Stevie I wont leave you never gonna leave you Im with you to the end of the line all right_ \-- _THEYRE STILL CONNECTED I CAN FEEL THE MENTAL LINK ITS STILL STABLE I CANT GET IN TO BREAK IT DAMMIT SOMEONE NEEDS TO SEDATE ROGERS PUT HIM UNDER SO THE FEEDBACK STOPS AT LEAST IM ON IT_ \-- so much pain so much pain and Steves voice still in his head mixing with his own screaming screaming always screaming -- _TALK TO ME TONY FUCK ITS DOWN ITS ALL DOWN MEMORY SPEECH ALL OF IT IT ALL CAME CRASHING DOWN_ \-- gotta protect Steve gotta make sure he makes it home Ma has Dad and Becca to keep her company but Steve is all Sarah has _just go get out of here no not without you_ burning burning burning someone please make it stop -- _FUCK THE MEDICINE ISNT WORKING FAST ENOUGH GIVE HIM ANOTHER ONE IF I GIVE HIM MUCH MORE I RUN THE RISK OF DAMAGING HIS BRAIN ITS BURNING UP ANYWAY JUST GIVE IT TO HIM PLEASE BRUCE HELP HIM PLEASE_ \-- so much pain worse than the laser blast in the shoulder _lizards pouring over the hills wave after wave dear god theyre all going to die_ his head his head its splitting apart its engulfed in flames he cant breathe he cant breathe he cant breathe -- _HIS LUNGS ARE SHUTTING DOWN BRUCE HIS LUNGS ARE SHUTTING DOWN I CANT DO THIS WITHOUT EQUIPMENT_ _DONT LEAVE US PLEASE DONT LEAVE US_ \-- _are you crazy ill just slow you down leave me_ dont leave me Stevie please dont leave me to die like a dog in the dust the pain the pain dear god the pain hands lifting him now new pain with every step every movement sending fiery screams through his mind screams screams screaming alone where is Steve Steve is no longer screaming good protect Steve never let him feel the pain -- _TONY TRY TO GET THESE MACHINES WORKING AGAIN AS FAST AS YOU CAN PIETRO BRING ME EVERYTHING IN THIS ROOM THAT LOOKS REMOTELY USEFUL WANDA AND NATASHA KEEP TRYING TO GET IN HIS HEAD TRY TO PROTECT HIM FROM THE WORST OF IT CAN YOU SAVE HIM I DONT KNOW BUT I SURE AS HELL AM GOING TO TRY_ \-- _you must be Winifreds boy yes maam James Barnes maam although the doctors all call me Bucky_ Bucky James Bucky pain pain pain breathe need to breathe need to _my Steven is going to need a good friend to help him through all of this you think you can be that friend for him Bucky yes maam I sure would like to try_ good friend only friend only friend I ever wanted needed to the end of the line die for you Stevie you know I would _lizards lizards everywhere swarming over the hills screaming overhead_ screaming screaming _flying straight at Steve push him aside dont even think die for you Stevie to the end of the line_ burning burning when will it stop burning please please help me Steve Steve Steve Steve please Steve help me please please Steve help me Steve help me help me Steve ………………………..

  
xXx

Everything hurt.  His arms and legs, his torso, and especially his head.  It throbbed steadily and painfully with his heartbeat, making pulses of red flash behind his eyelids.  Slowly, Steve opened his eyes and squinted into the dim lighting of the second floor sleeping quarters.  Instantly, a wave of nausea rolled over him, forcing him to squeeze them shut again and groan.

“Careful, Captain.”  Barton’s voice, above and slightly behind him.  A gentle touch fell on his shoulder, steadying.  “Take it slow.”

Steve tried to ask what had happened, but his tongue was three sizes too thick and his head had started to spin.  He resigned himself to lying on the floor and waiting until his body decided to stop feeling like it had just been through a meat grinder.  Twice.

The sound of moving feet convinced him to crack one eye open again, and he watched as Odinson sat down on the floor in front of him.  The big man looked exhausted and more worried than Steve had ever seen him, but he offered Steve a ghost of a smile when he realized he was being watched.

“How are you feeling, Captain?” he asked.  “Any better?”

In the time it took for Steve to wonder if shaking his head would be as bad of an idea as he suspected, Barton answered for him.  “He just had his brain in the blender and then got knocked out by some serious grade-A tranqs.  How do you think he feels?”

“I don’t know,” Odinson replied innocently.  “That is why I asked him.”

“Terrible,” Steve croaked, finally managing to make his mouth and throat work together.  “I feel terrible.  What the hell happened?”

Instantly, Odinson’s eyes sought the floor, and Steve could tell by the shuffling behind him that Barton was similarly averting his eyes.  Frowning, he opened his mouth to gripe at them, but before he could form the words, Barton’s words registered.  He had just had his brain in a blender.  And from there, it all came rushing back.

Bucky.

Winter was Bucky.

Bucky had been alive all this time.  Bucky had been right there in front of him, right there in hand’s reach.  Bucky hadn’t died; he had been captured.  Bucky was one of the Chitauri experiments.  Bucky was a telepath.  Bucky was Winter.  Bucky was … _Where was Bucky?_

Steve surged forward only to have crippling nausea send him crashing down again.  Barton and Odinson were on him in seconds, easing him down, covering him back up with a blanket, admonishing him not to move.  But Steve’s mind was on fire now.  Frantically, he gripped at a sleeve -- he didn’t know whose -- and demanded, “Bucky!  Where is Bucky!”

“He’s with Bruce,” Barton answered.  “It’s okay.  The doc’s got him.”

“Bruce,” Steve echoed, then pressed, “Where?”

“In the lab on the second basement level,” Odinson told him, pressing gently on Steve’s chest with his big hand.  “Now rest, Captain.  You are not well.”

But Steve had no intention of resting.  Not until he had seen Bucky again with his own eyes.  Again, he shoved himself as upright as he could, slower this time so the nausea was bearable and the room didn’t spin quite so much.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Barton exclaimed, his hands immediately on Steve’s shoulders.  “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To see Bucky,” Steve bit, managing to shake one of Barton’s hands off without making himself black out.

“Look, Cap, we know how you feel, but you need --”

“Don’t tell me that I need to rest,” Steve angrily interrupted him as he found purchase on the floor and started to drag himself along it.  “Don’t tell me I need to take care of myself or that I need time to recover.  What I _need_ is to see Bucky right this goddamn minute.  I will _crawl_ the whole way if I have to, so if you two aren’t going to help me, you need to get the hell out of my way.”

His men fell silent for a moment, long enough for Steve to catch his breath and reach out his hands for another pull.  In the next moment, however, Odinson’s right arm was around his waist and the man had grabbed Steve’s left arm and hooked it around his broad shoulders.  Gently, his second helped him to his feet.  A heartbeat later, Barton was on his other side, taking his other arm and as much weight as the slighter man could bear.

“Of course we will help you, Captain,” Odinson smiled at him kindly.  “We are more than your subordinates; we are your friends.  And I, for one, know how it feels to ache for one’s brother.”

“Never thought I’d ever see the Hero of Mars with my own eyes,” Barton commented lightly.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked him, thrown a little by the sudden change both in topic and in altitude.  “I’ve been here the whole time.”

“Nah, that’s not what I mean,” the other man grinned up at him from where he was bending under Steve’s weight.  Together, they began the slow trek across the room towards the door and the first flight of stairs.  “Yeah, you’ve been here the whole time, but you’ve been _Captain Rogers_ the whole time.  I meant I never thought I’d get to see spitting-fire, throw-myself-at-the-enemy-like-some-damn-kamikaze-pilot Private Steve “Martyr is my middle name” Rogers.  That was definitely a new experience.”

“You’re an ass, Barton,” Steve told him, but he was smiling when he did so.

“Guilty as charged,” Barton replied happily while Odinson laughed at them both.

It took a painfully long time and they had to stop several times for Steve to bend over himself and breathe heavily to keep from retching, but eventually, they half-walked, half-tumbled down the final flight of stairs and made for the lab.  The second they entered, Steve’s eyes sought out and found the figure laid out on a makeshift stretcher, connected by various wires to several machines that spun out readings in a morbid mechanical dance.  Wanda Maximoff stood at the head of the stretcher, her back to them, her body blocking Steve’s view of the figure’s face.

His two assistants communicated silently with each other for a moment, and then Odinson took all of Steve’s weight as Barton broke off to find a chair.  He placed it at the side of the stretcher, nodding once to Wanda before moving back to help guide Steve to sit.  As they moved, Steve finally noticed the three bodies on the floor near the wall: Banner, Romanov, and Pietro Maximoff.  They lay in a pile of blankets and pathetic-looking pillows, dead asleep.  Stark, he realized a moment later, was sitting near one of the monitoring machines, completely still except for the tiniest twitch in his fingers every few seconds.

All these things slid into Steve’s mind and then immediately slid back out again as he settled into the chair and finally laid his eyes on Bucky’s sleeping face.  His best friend, his brother in all but blood, the one person other than his mother whom he loved more than anything in the universe.  The person who had taken half of his heart and all of his soul when he had died.  He was here.  He was terribly battered, starved almost beyond recognition, and undoubtedly scarred for life, but he was here and he was alive.  He was alive.

Steve’s eyes filled with tears as he slowly, fearfully reached out a hand to gently touch Bucky’s hair.  He could barely bring himself to make contact, a part of him afraid that by doing so the spell would break and he would find out it had all been a dream.  That Bucky was still dead, that none of this had ever happened.  Reality did not change, however, when his fingertips brushed those dark strands, and he carefully slid them downwards, brushing the edge of Bucky’s cheek, willing himself not to start bawling like a child.

Softly, warmth crept into his mind, and he felt Wanda’s gentle touch, trying to soothe the painful emotions that were running wild within him.  He lifted his head to meet her dark eyes and in a small voice asked, “What happened to him?”

Wanda regarded him for a moment, then replied, “ _You were connected to him, Steve.  What happened to you?_ ”

“I …” Steve faltered, his eyes being drawn back to Bucky like a powerful magnet.  “I saw his face, and I remembered back when I was a kid, stuck in the hospital recovering from yet another surgery.  And there was Bucky waiting for me when I woke up, grinning that cocky grin of his and pretending that he hadn’t been as scared as I had been.  That memory was so vivid in my mind, like it had been days instead of years.  And then, suddenly, I was drowning in memories.  Like every second of my life was replaying itself in my head all at once.  It felt like my head was on fire, like it was going to explode.”

“It wasn’t your life,” Stark commented, startling Steve with his voice.  The normally frenetic man still had not moved from his position staring at the monitors, and his voice was unnervingly calm and even.  When Steve turned his head to him, he nodded briefly at the man on the stretcher and continued, “It was his.  The walls broke.  Both of them at once.”

“ _I suppose that memory was as important to him as it was to you, Steve_ ,” Wanda added gently.

Steve choked on a sob as he turned away again.  The whirlwind that had gone through his head had been Bucky’s memories, not his.  And yet when Steve had been able to distinguish one from the other as the pain and pressure ripped through him, he had recognized every image he had seen.  The implications made his heart ache.  Bucky’s memories were so close to his own because the two of them had been inseparable, their lives and their memories completely intertwined.

“This is my fault,” he whispered.  “I caused this.”

“ _Perhaps_ ,” Wanda agreed, not unkindly.  “ _But there is no need to feel guilty.  You did not hurt him on purpose._ ”

“I would never hurt Bucky,” Steve declared, lifting his head to meet her steady gaze.  “Never.  I’d die first.”

She smiled gently at him and instructed, “ _Then do not worry on it.  He lives, and that is what matters._ ”

Steve shook his head, unconvinced, but he didn’t argue further.  Instead, he returned to his slow scrutiny of that face he had been so sure he would never see again.  Now that the mask was gone, Steve could clearly see the sunken quality of Bucky’s cheeks, the pale tint to his thin lips.  He looked so sick and frail that Steve forced his mind to go blank to stop himself from getting up and hitting something.  He could feel the anger later; right now, he needed to stay calm.

“How long will he be out?” he asked evenly, his voice devoid of emotion.

He had directed the question mostly to Stark, but it was Wanda who answered.  “ _That is for Bruce to decide.  He thought it best to keep him asleep for now._ ”

“I see.”  Steve turned his head to glance back at the collapse of bodies against the wall.  “And I see that he took the opportunity to get some rest as well.”

“As he should have,” Stark interjected with a frown.  “He’s exhausted.” He fixed his sharp eyes on Steve as he continued, “We nearly lost your friend several times.  Bruce brought him back every time.  Bruce and Natasha.  His medulla stopped working at one point.  She had to order his heart to keep beating.  Keep his lungs bringing in air.”

A mixed wave of fear and gratitude washed over Steve as he swallowed heavily. Softly, he commented, “I didn’t know she could do that.”

Stark’s eyes held his for a moment longer before returning to the readouts.  “Neither did she.”

“How are you holding up, Tony?”

The other man waved a hand at him, the first movement he had made since Steve had entered that was even vaguely Stark-like.  “Tired, but I’m in a better place than the rest of them.”

“ _Not true_ ,” Wanda chastised with a tiny smirk.  “ _You should rest, too, Tony.  Let Clint or Thor watch the numbers and lines._ ”  She turned her head to the two men in question who had taken up watch against the wall and motioned with her head that they should approach.

Stark frowned and shot her a glare before either one could move.  “They don’t know what to look for like I do,” he protested.  “I can do it.”

In spite of Stark’s assurance, Barton began to wander over anyway.  “It’s just making sure they stay stable, right?” he asked, looking over the various machines when he was close enough.  “I can watch numbers and make sure they don’t change too much.  Same with the heart monitor.  Any child knows beeps are good and the flat line is bad.”  He shoved at Stark’s shoulder lightly.  “Seriously, man.  Go get some sleep.  This low-key version of yourself is scaring me.”

But Stark didn’t move.  Instead, he found Steve’s eyes with his own again, their dark depths burning with intensity.  “Captain,” he said, “there’s something you should know.  Before Bruce went beddie-bye, he warned me that Barnes here only looks stable.  He’s still very touch-and-go and will be for a while.  Wanda is doing her best to heal what she can, and Natasha will take a shift once she wakes up, but more got fucked up than just his brain.  His body is a complete wreck, and Bruce warned he is not to be moved.  Moving him could kill him.”

Steve’s stomach dropped through the floor like a proverbial stone.  His throat suddenly dry, he asked, “How long?”

“Forty-eight hours,” Stark replied, his face hard and emotionless.  “At least.”

Steve didn’t bother to check to see what time it was.  It didn’t matter how long he had been sedated.  They didn’t have forty-eight hours.  They didn’t have half that amount of time.

Stay and die.  Leave and Bucky would probably die anyway.  Bucky, who he had just found again after five years.  Bucky, who he would have torn the universe apart trying to find if he had known he was still alive.  This wasn’t a dream.  This was a nightmare.

“Captain.”  Somehow Barton had found another chair and had set it down on the other side of Steve without his even registering the man had moved.  “Contact Fury.  Tell him everything.”

“Commander Fury?” Odinson asked, not understanding.

“It won’t make a difference,” Steve said, shaking his head.  “The nearest fleet is days away, and even if they could get here in time, no Earth force has ever beaten that many at once.”  He lowered his eyes to Bucky’s face again.  Gently, he ran his fingers through the other’s dark hair and stated, “You have to go.  All of you.  Thor, take the others, get on the _Avenger_ , and get somewhere safe.”

Odinson’s rumbling voice sounded like an angry volcano.  “Steven, we are not leaving you behind.”

“You have to,” he replied, turning in his seat to glare at the big blond behind him.  “Because I am not leaving him and I am not putting the rest of you in danger.”

“ _I will not leave him either_ ,” Wanda interjected before Odinson could say anything else.  “ _And neither will Natasha or Pietro.  You forget, Steve_ ,” she finished with a look of disapproval that reminded him strongly of his mother, “ _we are not to be separated until we say so._ ”

“You heard the lady,” Barton chimed in with a grin that was half amusement, half grim determination.  “You’re stuck with us, Cap.  So let’s stop trying to be lonely heroes and start thinking of ways to save ourselves.  First,” he ticked off, holding up fingers as he went, “you contact Fury and inform him of the situation.  All of it.  I can show you how to get a secure channel to him so you can talk face to face.  Second, you turn on that ole Hero of Mars brain and think of a way to keep us all alive as long as possible.”

Steve sighed heavily and gave Barton an incredulous look.  “How the hell am I supposed to do that?  Didn’t you just get finished saying my ‘Hero of Mars’ persona specialized in plans to get myself killed?”

“Well, yeah,” the other man replied, “but they were still good plans.  You’re a great strategist, Steve, whether you believe it or not.  And this time,” he added with a small smile and a tip of his head downwards, “you have a reason to stay alive.”

Steve sighed again and went back to lightly stroking Bucky’s hair.  It didn’t matter what Barton believed.  The situation was hopeless.  There was no way a single ship with a five man crew could take out ten Chitauri warships by themselves.  Even with the element of surprise, they would only manage to get two or three before they were under enough fire to force a retreat or risk being destroyed.  And they couldn’t retreat, not with Bucky unable to leave the base.  They could send JARVIS and the _Avenger_ away and try to hide, but the moment the Chitauri picked up human life signs in the base, they would just destroy it from orbit.  Even if they did send a scouting party down rather than blow them up immediately, humans couldn’t exactly hide from the telepathic lizards …

Steve’s train of thought skidded to a halt.  Eyes wide, he turned to Stark and demanded, “Tony, tell me you disobeyed me when I told you to stop working on that telepathic helmet device.”

Stark blinked at him a moment as his tired mind processed the question before replying, “Well of course I did.  Did you expect me to _not_ play with new tech?”

Gears started to turn in Steve’s head.  “JARVIS,” he said next, addressing the nearest machine and hoping the AI had been installed on it.  “If you have no crew aboard and can therefore divert energy you would use for life support and gravity to shields and navigation, how many Chitauri warships do you think you could take on safely?”  When no response came, he added, “Talk to me, JARVIS.”

“As long as no more than four come at me at one time,” the familiar British voice finally replied, “I believe I can handle myself admirably.”

Wanda had jumped slightly at the new voice, and now she tipped her head curiously.  “ _The machine speaks!_ ” she commented with delight.

“It does,” Steve nodded at her.  “I’ll explain in a moment.  Clint,” he continued, switching his attention to the man across from him who was grinning madly, “we have twenty-some hours before our window of safety closes, but how long until the Chitauri fleet actually gets here?”

“I’d have to check the communications again to be completely sure,” Barton answered him, “but it’s at least twice that amount.  Maybe closer to forty-eight or fifty hours.”

“So we might actually be able to move Bucky before they get here?” Steve asked, his hopes rising.

“Possibly.  Although it will be way too late to run by then.  We’ll be all over their radar.”

“No, that’s fine.  Running isn’t an option anymore.”

“So you have a plan, then?”

Steve turned to look at Odinson who had asked the question, then turned back to meet the sparkling, determined eyes of the other three before him.  “I’m starting to get one,” he admitted, “although it’s going to take a hell of a lot of luck to pull off.”

“I’d be disappointed if it didn’t,” Barton grinned.

Steve shook his head at him before pointedly turning to Stark.  “Get some rest,” he ordered.  “I need all of you as sharp as possible these next couple of days.  And while I know you in particular work best hyped up on caffeine, right now you look like you’re about to drop dead.”

“Such a charmer,” Stark drawled at him, but he vacated his chair nonetheless.  Barton rose from the chair across from Steve to take the other man’s place in front of the monitors.

“And what of you, Captain?” Odinson asked, stepping up beside him and laying a hand on his shoulder.  “Will you rest as well?”

Steve dropped his gaze and let his eyes drink in Bucky’s bruised, starved face again.  Carefully, he slid his hand along the edge of the stretcher until he found his best friend’s hand and laced their fingers together.

“Not yet.  I will, soon.  But not yet.”

His second nodded once and stepped back to give him privacy.  Wanda similarly lowered her eyes and went back to her task of doing what she could to ease the destruction in Bucky’s mind.  Silence fell in the lab, leaving each person to their own thoughts.  Whatever the others’ were, Steve’s had a single focus, bright and unwavering.

_This time, I will not lose you.  This time, we go home together._

xXx

Gently, as gently as she could, Wanda pushed deeper into the destruction that was their Leader’s mind.  It was like walking through smoke, so dark, thick, and oppressive.  Here and there were bright patches of still-burning fires, but the flames were low and barely flickering.  The inferno had subsided; only charred ash remained now.

Natasha had been here first, and Wanda could feel the lingering echoes of her dear friend’s mind in places.  The older woman had fought the flames, had thrown her own mind into the fire to extinguish it where she could and to burn in their Leader’s -- in James’s place where she could not.  Now Wanda would do what she could to rebuild from what was left.  James had done so much for them, had freed and protected them.  It was their turn to repay him for all his strength and kindness.

James.  That was what she, Natasha, and Pietro had decided to call him.  Leader was only a title, Barnes was a second name, and Bucky, well …  Bucky belonged to Steve.  So until he could tell them himself to call him something else, he would be James.  Wanda thought it rather suited him.

A voice floated softly in the air above her as she moved forward.  James’s voice, repeating the same mantra over and over: _Barnes James B Private 32557038 … … Barnes James B Private 32557038 … … Barnes James B …_  Natasha had said he had screamed it when she was there, but now it was barely a whisper.  A quiet echo that his mind refused to let go of even as the majority of it remained unconscious.

“ _James,_ ” she said to him, gently pushing forward, ever forward, “ _I am here with you.  I am here, James.  You are not alone._ ”

The smoke thinned slightly, and finally Wanda could see farther than a few feet in front of her.  With a bit of will, she pushed the remaining smoke away, creating a small clearing for herself, a bubble moving through the mist.  She was looking for something; she didn’t know exactly what, but she trusted that she would know when she found it.  Somehow, she had to be able to help poor James put his mind back together.  Somehow, she had to be able to help him start to heal.

When she found it, she sank slowly down, equal parts joyous and sorrowful.  Here was her answer, her chance, but the pile was so large, the pieces so small and burned along the edges.  Memories.  Broken memories.  Curled and covered in soot.  Her heart aching, Wanda lifted several of them up so she could examine them, but they were so damaged that she could barely make out the images within.  These memories, she knew, were what made James the man he was.  He needed them restored in order to be himself again.  This was the task that Wanda had before her, but how could she possibly succeed with so many pieces and all of them so badly destroyed?

Determined to at least try, Wanda began the tedious task of separating each of the pieces out of the pile.  Carefully, she spread them all around her, mindful of the small fires that still lingered along the edges of her clearing.  Once she ran out of space, she began to build upwards, forming walls around her of the bits and pieces of James’s memories.  By the time there were no more pieces in the pile, the walls were so tall that she could not see the tops.  Her heart sank.

So many pieces, the images within them barely recognizable.  She didn’t even know where to start.  To finish would be impossible.  She was staring at a several thousand piece jigsaw puzzle with no picture to guide her.  If she knew what these memories described, if she could only decipher the images shown, she would have had a chance to find the separate pieces and put them back together.  As it was, she simply did not know enough about him to be able to tackle this great of a task.

_Barnes James B Private 32557038 … …_  The voice whispered to her.  She whispered back.

“ _Oh, James, I am so sorry.  Perhaps Steve could have helped you, but I do not think I can._ ”

Sadly, she prepared to undo the walls she had built, but just before she pulled them down, something flashed and caught her eye.  Surprised and intrigued by the sudden change, she moved closer to the particular memory piece to investigate.  There, oddly visible even underneath the char and soot, was a bright spot of yellow-white color that stood out from the blurred image.  Wanda stared at it for several moments, confused as to why she had not noticed it before.  Still, it was only one spot of color, so she moved back to the center of her bubble once more.

Another flash drew her attention elsewhere.  And another as she moved towards this one.  Again and again, little flashes of color leapt out from the images as she moved about, each oddly bright and distinct from the distorted image surrounding it.  Not all of the pieces had these bits of color; only about a tenth of them.  But enough of them did that Wanda could not understand how she had missed such an important clue.

Her hope rising, she brought all of the pieces back together and began to sort them: pieces with color and pieces without.  As she sorted, she realized that the bright spots were always along the edges of the fragments, split between several pieces, and that the shading of the white sections was not always the same.  Some were tinted yellow, some blue, and others a very light pink.  Armed with this new knowledge, she began sorting the colored pieces further, creating subsets by color-tint and subsets of those by which edge the section touched.  It was still a jigsaw puzzle, she realized with growing joy, but now at least she had some guidance.

When she had finished, she found herself staring at a single wall, about seven feet high, sorted into a dozen sections.  The difference made her heart soar.  This task was manageable.  This she could do.  Eagerly, she moved towards one shade with renewed determination and resolve.

A few moments of scanning and then a few more of trial and error resulted in Wanda’s first success.  Three memory pieces came together along burned, jagged lines, forming a complete circle of light-blue in their center.  The rest of the image surrounding the circle was still too blurred to make out completely, but Wanda thought she could see a figure standing near the circle, gazing at it and smiling.  It looked a little like James, although a James who had been healthier and much younger.  Carefully, she reached out with her mind to touch the memory in the hope that she could read something from it.  Unfortunately, it gave her nothing.

Disappointed, Wanda looked again at the face of the person who was most likely James.  Even with the blurring, she could tell that he was happy, happier than she had ever before seen her dear friend.  And while she did not know his past at all, she could easily guess what had made him smile like that.

_Steve_.

The memory flashed violently, causing Wanda to cry out and pull back.  When she had recovered enough to look again, the pieces had changed.  Instead of three burned fragments, there was now a single piece in front of her, its image clear and bright.  There was James, easily seen, and there, as she had suspected, was Steve, grinning at his friend.  James had one hand on the top of Steve’s head as if trying to push him downwards and make him smaller.  Steve, it seemed, was letting him, but only a little.  Both of them looked young, barely out of childhood, and so very happy.

Still marveling at the change, Wanda didn’t notice the other pieces lifting from the non-colored pile until they were flying toward the new piece.  One by one, they attached themselves to the memory, brightening and clearing as they did so, revealing a simple scenery of blocky buildings and dusty, red earth.  Soon, the memory was whole again, frozen but very much alive.  Wanda watched, fascinated, as it gently floated downwards and then disappeared, absorbed into James’s mind once more.

For several moments, Wanda remained still, stunned and delighted.  Steve was the key.  Steve had always been the key.  All she had to do was restore Steve to James’s memories, and he would do the rest.  The two were intertwined.  She had seen that in Steve’s mind as he sat by James’s bedside and mourned.  She could see it now here in James’s mind.  Long before James had been their savior and leader, Bucky had been Steve’s and Steve had been Bucky’s.  These two souls would always be linked, together forever.

Wanda knew exactly what that felt like.

Overflowing with joy, she surged forward and grabbed another memory fragment.  Once she had found its matches, she touched the colored circle with her mind and whispered Steve’s name.  Just as before, the image flashed and cleared and the remaining pieces separated themselves from the discarded pile to complete the memory.  The next memory was even easier to restore, and the next after that.  Before she knew it, she had finished an entire color section and was moving on to the next.

All of the light-blue memories had shown images of the two young men at around the same age.  As she restored the pieces of a yellow-tinted memory, Wanda was surprised to see the face of James as a young boy.  Steve, once she had restored him, was even more startling to see.  Young, small, and so very frail-looking.  Before, Steve had mentioned a surgery and a bed.  This memory had a bed as well, although it looked as if it was in Steve’s own home.  The boys were in the bed together, Steve curled up against his Bucky’s side, thin face pinched in pain, as the other boy read aloud from a handheld device.  Wanda gazed on it in sympathy as it completed itself and began to disappear.  How different this small Steve was from the one she knew.

The rest of the yellow memories showed her the story of young James and young Steve, each one as full of tenderness and fear as the light-blue ones had been of joy.  Seeing them, Wanda understood the bond between the two men even more.  They had come through an ordeal together and lived to celebrate its end.  Solemnly, she turned to the pink-tinted memories.

As the first of these final fragments came together, Wanda’s heart sank.  These were not the memories of a child fearful for his best friend’s life or of a young man full of happiness and looking toward the future.  These were the memories of a man on the brink of death.  The memories of a soldier at war.  Steve was here, too, of course, but even Steve’s bright expressions were dulled with the weight of mortality.  Here they stood at attention, listening to a superior speak; here, they practiced with guns, knives, against targets or dummy opponents.  Wanda watched these memories fade with sadness, knowing that without them their leader would not have been the man he was, yet wishing all the same that he and Steve had been spared all of this.

All while she had worked, the soft voice above her had continued to whisper its repeated words, over and over.   _Barnes James B Private 32557038 … …_  Yet at some point, she had noticed that they were growing quieter with each memory she restored.  The more she gave Steve back to him, the less pain James suffered.  And now, as the final memory dissolved into nothingness, the voice trailed off and stopped.  His mind was still full of smoke, the dying embers still burned, but James was finally at peace.

Her heart full, Wanda lifted her focus to the space above her.  “ _Rest now, James.  Heal.  And then come back to us.  We will be waiting for you._ ”

Not expecting a reply, she began the journey home.


End file.
